Blessings in Disguise
by Wispa
Summary: Remember, simple truths will keep you going, simple love will keep you strong. Because there are questions without answers, flames that never die. And the heartaches we go through are often just...blessings in disguise. HM:AWL
1. A Signifigant Detail

**Blessings in Disguise**

A/N: _Yes, here's another story, which through many a circumstance ended up here, from me. I've already written two other chapters, but before I post them I would like to know what my readers think. And although I don't usually care, please do read and review, whether it is a kind comment or not._ _And please do excuse this pathetically short chapter._

**Chapter One**

Sunlight snaked in through the encrusted windowpanes, giving the musty barn some optimism through the murk. The yellowed rays danced upon the age-warped walls, baring the dust particles that sprinkled the air. Even with the little light there was, barn cats and field mice were visible as they scurried into the shadows, anticipating free food that dropped from the occupant's troughs. The mildewed hay still held a touch of golden gleam as the refreshing daylight bathed it in its radiance.

It was noontime, and the animals inhabited the aging barn had become fidgety. Horses pawed at their stable doors; cows nosed their troughs; and chickens scurried throughout the disarray, squawking and attempting to take flight at the slightest startle. The barn cats retreated into the lofts, where they awaited with glazed eyes the food that was to come.

Just as the animals seemed willing to depart their stalls and get their food themselves, the large front doors whined as the door slid haltingly over the rusted hinges. The barn silenced as every creature peered down the aisle way, hoping to catch a glimpse of whom the intruder was.

It was a girl of a young woman's height, her chocolate-colored hair wiping just below her shoulder blades. On either side of her round face draped hair shorter than the rest, giving her an almost innocent air. Planted upon her porcelain complexion were two large, oval eyes, the color of morning mist framed in dark lashes. A button nose and smiling lips rested below.

The light emitted from the open doors was severed abruptly as the old entrance thudded back into place. The young woman who had previously entered hauled herself through the cluttered aisle way, her frame bent from the heavy objects of feed that she carried. Chickens scurried with eager cackles about her feet, some stabbing at the ground, seeking food.

At the first stall, the girl set the sack and buckets down with a relieved sigh. Her nimble fingers worked the bag open, only taking a brief rest to stroke the brow of the horse that whinnied in anticipation. Grasping the tarnished bucket that dangled over the side, she filled it with feed and dumped it into the trough, repeating the same procedure with the other two bright-eyed animals. Heaving the bag into the storeroom, she picked up the buckets and made her way to the pigs, which snorted with satisfaction as the bucks of slops cascaded into their trough. With a humored smile, the girl reached into her apron, extracting handfuls of seed, which scattered itself amidst the frenzied poultry.

As she gazed at the cattle with a reluctant expression, a torrent of hay and soil plunged from the loft like a river breaching a dam. Through the rustling of the mess as it collided with the earth, a boy's warning was barely audible, although it was hardly necessary due to its belatedness.

Twigs and fragments of hay caught in her brunette head, the girl below emerged, her gray eyes flashing. Spitting hay from her mouth, she shot a disgruntled glare up to the boy peering over the edge above her.

"Sorry, Celia," he apologized with a grin.

Brushing herself off, the young woman known as Celia called back up, "How many times must I remind you, Eddy, that the hay goes in the cow's troughs and the horse's stalls _only_?"

"Sorry, Celia," Eddy repeated, his grin still pasted on his face.

Incapable of true reproach, Celia smiled reluctantly and forgave her brother. "Now, since you seem so eager to play with the hay, you are granted the privilege of feeding the livestock and tidying the stalls. Well done."

The boy began to gripe with disinclination of his tasks ahead, but his sister was already out the barn doors with a grin. Mischievousness was not in her character, but she couldn't help but let the whim escape her now and again.

But even as she exited the place, she was still called after. Her sister, known as Bethany, twisted her frame through the front door, calling her younger sister to the kitchen and attempting to detain the younger children inside. Grasping her skirts in each fist, Celia loped to the porch and into the worn farmhouse, which was in need of a good scrubbing that the occupants never seemed to have the time for. Heaving herself through the unruly scatter of her siblings, Celia made her way to the small summer kitchen, where Bethany was diligent in cooking the morning's meal and tending to the howling baby on her hip.

Over the shriek of the teapot, Celia asked, "I'm sorry I'm late; do you need me to help?"

Without a glance at her younger sister, Bethany thrust the wailing child into Celia's arms, ordering her to hush and feed it. Bouncing and humming to the babe on her hip and formulating its liquid meal, Celia attempting to stay out of her sister's way. By the taut appearance of her face, Celia deemed that something must be amiss. Perhaps Andrew had sent a message from the shop, or maybe the proprietors had made an offer on the land. Funds hadn't been particularly abundant lately, and the land was estimated to be adequate grounds for railroads. It would bring more prosperity to Piney Grove, or so said the administrators.

"Beth, you seem edgy this morning. Is something wrong?" Celia asked with apparent hesitation. When her words were met with no reply, she indicated the baby and added, "Is it Lorelle?"

"Celia, will ready the table?" Bethany asked, avoiding her sister's eyes and inquiry.

Placing the quieted child into the nearby cradle, Celia began to obey her sister's orders. Her mind contemplated over her sister's evasion, although she tried not to appear too disturbed over the matter. As she set down the tray of warm bread, the stampede of children was the only thing that ruptured her realm of concentration. Many grabbed their seats, some fighting over a particular chair and others arguing who should hold Lorelle. With one child on her hip, Celia retrieved the baby from her younger sister by thirteen years, Ida. The infant commenced to her incessant bawling afresh, her bottle popping from her mouth.

Over the noise, Celia scarcely discerned her sister's message to begin distributing the food. With a shout of sanction, Celia rested Gideon, her squirming brother, on the chair that held his brother younger by a year, which initiated much brawling. Bouncing the wailing babe on her other hip, Celia tried to keep up with her sister's brisk pace at serving their siblings. The younger girl wasn't one to move quickly, for she instead preferred the quiet and steadiness of life. But in the particular household that she resided in presently, sluggishness was not acceptable—or not effective, at least.

Once all of the ravenous children had food on their plates—what little there was to serve—Celia and her sister took their spots on opposite ends. Celia, still possessing the weepy baby, did not eat much, and instead tried to offer Lorelle bits of the food, although she did not oblige. By the end of the meal, the brunette was the only individual whose plate was still occupied.

Placing the pacified child back in her cradle, Celia sat back down at her plate, intending to clean it before assisting her sister at cleaning the plates their siblings had left behind.

"Celia," Bethany's voice shattered the silence. "Celia, we need to talk."

Celia glanced up from her dish, her mouth full of breakfast. Taking a handkerchief and covering her mouth with it, she said, "What about, Beth?"

Bethany began to wring her soiled hands out on her apron, sitting down at her seat, despite the mess that still cluttered the table. Her rigid expression had melted into one indistinguishable; tender yet apprehensive. Her coffee brown locks had begun to tumble from their bun, giving her that appealing look that men loved. Celia didn't have that look, but she hadn't ever paid much notice. Being the quiet one, she preferred that she not be fussed over.

"Andrew sent a message from the shop today," she began, confirming Celia's assumptions. "It appears that the meeting with the proprietors didn't go over well with Papa, although Andrew says that he has not been told any details concerning what happened. But apparently they have not relinquished their claim the farm."

Celia winced. She knew her father wasn't someone who was a good businessman—he'd been a farmer all his life, and he had had a frighteningly quick temper that had revealed itself more and more ever since the death of their mother.

"That's too bad," she said, quickly adding, "but I'm sure we'll find some way to get out of their hold."

"I sure hope so," Bethany replied. "But as of today, Andrew said that Papa sent in a telegram saying he'd be back today."

Celia's eyebrows shot up and her eyes grew wide. "Today?"

Bethany nodded forlornly. "And Andrew said he'll want everything in place and…clean," she said, glancing dubiously at the disarray on the tabletop. "For that reason, we'll be needing to get to work." Without waiting for Celia's reply, Bethany stretched across the table to gather some dishes. Piling them on her palms, she warily righted herself and began to make her way to the sink.

It was at that moment that the front door opened the sound of laughing and voices infiltrated the dilapidated house. "Bethany?" a deep, rumbling voice called.

The startle caused the older girl to jump, initiating a surge of plates and cups to crashing to the ground. She could only watch as they shattered into slices, crumbs and liquids seeping over the floor. Her hands clasped over her mouth, and Celia was sure it was to stifle the scream that was threatening to be emitted.

"Bethany, was that you?" the voice asked, its source entering the kitchen. A series of gasps reverberated throughout the spectators, and Bethany realized that she ought to recover her composure. Celia, in contrast, remained in her inelegant position: half sitting and half standing with her face etched in the expression of alarm.

Bethany, the one who was always able to hide the largest dilemma with her ivory beam, turned with a smiling face. "Father, what a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you'd be here so early," she said through her teeth.

Her father smiled and wrapped his arm around a woman standing next to him. "Well," he said, "Odelia just couldn't wait to see the family. I've told her what admirable children you are. _Especially_ you, Bethany." He seemed to be reprimanding her through his expression. He turned to Odelia. "I assure you the house doesn't always look this way. Bethany is a wonderful housekeeper."

Celia snapped to attention and raced to the broom that lied next to the oven. Her heart's pounding accelerated rapidly not due to the physical challenge, but instead because of her father's intense gaze. She had grown distant from him the more he grew distant from her, as it was with the others. His attitude toward the lot of them frightened them all, which was why Celia took the liberty to hide behind her sister.

"Thank you Father, you are too kind. I'm sure your journey has been strenuous, so why don't you take a seat and tell us about it? We are most interested," Bethany said, escorting him to her chair.

"Thank you, as well, daughter," he said. With a slight frown, he included, "Won't you get Miss Odelia a seat too?"

"Whatever you say, Father," Bethany replied, her voice tinged with the slightest touch of sarcasm. Her father seemed to notice it, but paid no heed.

"Celia," he said, "will you fetch us a cup of tea? Thank you."

"But none is ready."

The man turned to her with a firm look. "I asked you to make us some and I expect such a lovely girl as yourself would conform."

"Excuse me, then," Celia apologized, her head bowed. Turning on her heel, she plodded to the oven, where she readied the emptied teapot to be refilled.

Bethany, her ways precise and punctual as always, arranged the leftover biscuits for dinner and set them on the table. Stepping away as she had been taught, she asked, "So how did it go?"

"Awful," the man said through his mouthful of biscuit. "Those men don't have enough sense for reason."

Celia knew what that meant, as she had learned ever since that excuse had made itself frequent. It meant he'd been made a fool—as he was known to do ever since the death of his wife—and proved himself the amateurish farmer that the proprietors assumed he'd be. They'd made him mad, and he'd gone drinking to ease his fury. That answered all of the ambiguity concerning his lengthy period away. And Odelia completed the picture, and only made it worse in the eyes of the children.

As Celia prepared the beverage, she listened intently at her father's description of his trip. She didn't care to hear it anymore, however; it was disheartening to her ears.

By the time the tea was ready and on the table, the man had reached the part of his story where Odelia came into play. There were many glances back and forth, giggling, and flushed faces. As Celia stood back with Bethany, she found herself scowling.

"And so, I took 'er on back here," her father finished, holding the woman's hand.

Bethany cocked her head with an air of innocence. "But why? You had a life back in the city, didn't you, Miss Odelia?"

The plump woman's pale cheeks flushed pink and she glanced at the farmer from under her lashes. "I did indeed. I did."

Andrew, who had been standing back, spoke up. "Yes, that is what Father forgot to add, isn't Father?"

All eyes turned to the older man, who was rubbing his newly shaved chin in contemplation. "Yes, son. It seems I did leave out a significant detail," he said. Turning to his daughters, he stared them both in the eye, and, taking Odelia's hand and squeezing it, he responded, "Odelia and I are betrothed."


	2. Of Conspiracies and Fantasies

**Blessings in Disguise**

_A/N: Okay, so I'm impatient. I simply loathe waiting and so, although I only recieved one review (thank you, btw! Cliche no, it was appreciated greatly), I'm going to give in on my impatience and post Chapter 2. Remember, please read and review!_

_**Chapter Two**_

Bethany was the first to respond. Glancing at Andrew and back to her father, she said with feigned delight, "Oh, that's wonderful! It's been so long since I had a mother." Her words left a trace of contempt.

"Yes, Odelia comes from a very prosperous family, and is taking a very big step joining our family. I told her about our renowned produce and she was elated to become a part of our business," the man said with tender glances at his betrothed. "Not to mention becoming a part of our family, even when her own disapproved."

Celia, so far, had been able to contain her raging emotions, which seldom got out of her control. But as she opened her mouth to reply to her father, she transformed it forcefully into a smile, in fear of what she might say.

After an uncomfortable silence, Bethany spoke. Taking Celia by the crook of her arm, she said with a smile, "Could you excuse us, Father? We would like to go get the others and…tell them the great news."

"Go right ahead, Melody," he replied absently, staring at Odelia.

The slightest of frowns shadowed Bethany's face. "My name is Bethany."

"And go right ahead," her father said, waving her away.

Casting a slighted look at Andrew, Bethany whisked away, tugging Celia along and catching her older brother in the process. But as they left, Celia overheard her father's beau's words:

"Oh, my darling, they won't be bring in many more children, will they? Heavens, what will we do with them all?" Adding with a seducing tone, she said, "You know I'd rather start a family ourselves."

The words caught Celia off guard, and she idly hesitated in her steps. Noticing her lethargy, Bethany hissed over her shoulder for the younger girl to follow. Glancing over her shoulder at the pair behind her, she reluctantly followed.

That night, none of the children slept soundly. One would have assumed that the thought of their father returning would have eased their minds, but it seemed that it did just the opposite. The twelve who considered themselves all the family they'd need were apprehensive about the future and what it was to hold.

The next morning, Celia was awaken by Bethany, as usual, and the two made their way to the kitchen to ready the morning meal. As Celia exited the house to handle the animals, she handed Andrew his morning biscuit and sent him on his way, as she would every morning. He'd make fun her motherly ways, then forward her to the barn and her own duties.

One would never believe that the same family that had sat down the previous morning was the same that sat down the present one. The children had scuttled in indeed, but once the talk was subsided, the table was stiff with anticipation for their father. Bethany and Celia had seen to it that everything was ideal and better than the usual, but as they waited for a half an hour for their father to arrive at the table, the sisters wondered if their labor was to no avail.

Just as the heads of the table were about to authorize the rapid consumption of the contents on the table, shrill laughter and the same deep voice drifted into the kitchen. The two sisters scurried to different seats and hushed those around them, assuming the look of the perfect family they weren't.

As the betrothed couple entered the kitchen, Odelia exclaimed at what a fine look everything had. This brought a smile to many children's' faces, but Celia wasn't in the number.

As the pair sat down, Celia and Bethany began serving. As instructed multiple times earlier in the morning, no one ate until told to. Their father, however, defied the standard directions and began to eat when the food was given to him.

"Oh my goodness!" a female voice cried. Celia and Bethany turned to see Odelia with half of her breakfast in her mouth and her eyes bulging from their sockets. As the children turned to stare at her, the woman tried to hide her appalled look with a smile.

"What is it, darling?" her male companion asked.

Swallowing down the food she had in her mouth, she gave a smile that could have been mistaken for a grimace. "It's this food…it's nothing like I've had before," she said.

The man gave a slight frown. "What does that mean?"  
Odelia caught herself. "Oh, nothing bad! Nothing bad! No, in fact, I love it. It's delicious. But tell me: is this the best you've done?"

Celia detected the obvious trap and glanced at her sister, who's mouth was agape. She quickly regained herself and gave a shaky smile. "Given the ingredients we had to work with—"

Her father cut her off. "She's done much better. She's as good a cook as she is a housekeeper."

Odelia's fine brows arched. "Oh," she uttered, the slightest tint of dismay seeping into her tone.

As the two sisters returned to their seats, Bethany dared to talk. "Father, today I'll have to be inside taking care of the children, and you'll be at town, as you said yesterday. Celia will be working in the fields today all alone, and I was wondering if Miss Odelia would assist her in the work," she said, not looking at the woman she was inquiring about.

He stroked his whiskered chin. After much unnecessary thought, he turned to Odelia. "What do you think, my dear?"

Odelia looked flustered. "I would hardly know what to do!"

Bethany spoke up. "Celia would be more than happy to assist you, Miss Odelia. And besides, it would give the two of you time to…bond."

"But I would much rather be in here helping you dear, with the baby. Since, well, I'll need to know," Odelia said, casting an affectionate glance at the children's father.

"Celia needs more help than I do. Harvest is just a few weeks away, and if everything is not just as it should be, it could fall short. What do you say, Miss Odelia? You'll need to learn about the crops as well, since you will be a farmers wife."

The time ticked by and everyone held his or her breath for what Odelia would say. Bethany had always been the bolder sibling, hiding her insolence under a charming smile. Celia was never one to be controversial, and instead preferred to obey and complain to herself or the animals if she found the orders or circumstances unsatisfactory.

Stealing a glance at her beloved, Odelia sighed and stared at her plate. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Splendid," Bethany said, beaming. Standing up, she motioned to Celia to begin gathering the dishes. Pausing, she looked at her father. "Is everyone excused, Father?"

"It would appear so," he said. Turning to his betrothed, he told her, "Come, my dear." And with a grim smile, she did so.

After the dishes were collected and cleaned by Bethany, Celia made her way to the garden. The day was blistering and cloudless, confirming the vast drought. But before quenching the crops' thirst, she bent over to check their physical condition. Many were parched and dehydrated, but the watering can soon saw to the problem.

By the time her potential stepmother emerged from the house, Celia had already begun the elimination of the newborn weeds.

"Oh, oh! Excuse me, little…little children," Odelia exclaimed.

Celia turned to observe the situation. Odelia staggered through the heat and dirt, attempting to avoid the children scurrying about. On her head sat a large, cream-colored hat complete with veils, shading not only her entire head, but also her shoulders. And from her shoulders down to the ground was a white and cream dress, fit for any occasion other than work. Celia grimaced as she realized what a fool her father's beau would make of herself if she were truly intended on helping her in the fields.

"Miss Odelia!" Celia cried, bracing herself on the ramshackle fence pitifully providing a barrier around the crops.

Odelia spied Celia and scurried as fast as her skirts would allow to her. Before she had reached the gate, her face was red and her breath haggard, and Celia could only imagine what she would behave like after they really began to work.

After explaining to the worn woman what to do, the two of them set to work. It didn't seem to take Odelia long to eradicate the weeds, for she was already through with the row she was working on before Celia was.

Clapping her small hands together, Odelia pointed to the pile at her feet. "Oh, look! I did it, I did it. And it wasn't even that difficult," she cried, grinning like a child at Christmas.

Celia stood and wiped the trickling sweat from her brow. Surveying the work her companion had completed, she had to stifle a laugh. "Miss Odelia, you are far from finished. You merely plucked the stems from the weeds, but you have to pull the entire plant out, or it will return again and again. Why don't you complete my row, and I'll finish yours?"

Odelia's face dropped. "Oh, I really thought I had done it. And now I've just made it worse." Muttering under her breath, she said, "Dreaded farm work. Curse it."

"We usually have much more than this, Miss Odelia," Celia said. "Ever since my mother died, the profits and harvest have dwindled terribly. This is our worst year yet, with the drought and all."

"Oh?" Odelia asked, rubbing a dirt stain on her dress. "Your darling father told me income was rocketing."

"Was he drunk?" Celia asked under her breath.

"What was that, dear?"

"I said, no, that's not the case," Celia replied, glancing at the woman to see if she had detected the obvious lie.

"I don't believe your father, dear as he is, would lie to _me_. Surely somewhere along the line you misunderstood," Odelia said after a silence, a tinge of umbrage seeping into her words. "You young ladies always like to twist the truth."

Celia disregarded the statement. "Oh, of course not, Miss Odelia. My father wouldn't say something as insincere as that," she responded with distinct falseness. "But, if I may say so, the prospectors sure think that our farm is dissipating."

Odelia said nothing, and only wrinkled her plump brow.

Odelia never entered the fields again, whether it was for inspection or work. Instead, she mostly stayed in her and her betrothed's room, writing letters and other "folly". She had made it clear she wasn't fond of her darling's children, and seldom paid them any maternal heed. As it was before her father and his love arrived, the burden of motherliness had fallen on Bethany's shoulders.

Obviously infatuated with each other, both Odelia and the children's father had planned a prompt wedding. Odelia, who had spent most of the time in her room planning out the ceremony, would not be satisfied until she had included every small detail.

"My darling?" the familiar rumbling voice called down the upstairs hallway. Odelia noted his inquiry by directing him to her room with her voice.

Once seated at the edge of their bed, he asked, "What was it you called me for?"

Odelia laid aside her work and turned as much as her seat would allow. Grimacing slightly at the chair's squeal of disapproval, she replied, "I wanted to address you about the financial issues here on the farm. It seems all is not as well as you make it out to be." She raised a small eyebrow inquisitively.

The man's face fell. "Like everyone else, there are a few concerns regarding the assets."

"But I've heard from your daughter that prospectors think it is worse than you say," Odelia said.

He frowned. "There is talk of the farm's foreclosure," he finally responded in a low voice, as if the talk was a forbidden subject.

Odelia's mouth drew into a firm line. "But it is only talk, for I know you wouldn't keep that vital secret from _me_, dear." Disregarding the man's averting of his eyes, she continued with hauteur, "Yet, if you want it to remain as a silly rumor, you must take _action_. Perhaps one of your children would be willing to work?" She questioned, twirling her hair.

The children's father glanced up. "They do work much around the house, and Andrew works our store in town. Couldn't your family donate?"

Odelia's face flamed into a flush and her eyes flashed. "Most certainly not! They disapprove of my choice as it is, and if I give them a better reason to doubt my decision, than heaven knows what action they may take!"

He nodded solemnly, understanding completely. "Well, who do you propose should be sent away?"

Odelia glanced up with arched brows, as if preparing a long lecture in her mind. "Well," she began crisply, "what about that Bethany girl, she could burn some of that needless impudence doing something useful."

"Beth? I'm not entirely sure about that, Odelia. She does take care of the children quite efficiently, as well as cooks, cleans—"

"If she is so effective and resourceful, then why has she not found herself a beau?"

Her beau looked up, his eyes glowing with a sudden flame, as if he had longed for her to ask that. "I've been waiting to give her away to the right gentleman. But as of late…"

"You know," Odelia interrupted, holding up a finger and gazing at the ceiling in thought, "my dear sister has a boy about your daughter's age…perhaps if something were arranged, my family and yours would be better set? If you agree, of course. I'm sure your daughter wouldn't mind—she'd probably be enthralled to think that someone may actually pursuing her, although they aren't really." She smiled and winked at the man facing her as she finished her rambles.

The man smiled. "That's a wonderful plan, my sweet. Will this boy be at the wedding?"

Now Odelia grinned. "Of course." But as soon as the smile appeared, it vanished and she glanced to the floor, twirling her locks once again. "But without your girl, whom will be old enough to be sent away? All of the other children under her are…"

Her will-be husband stroked the stubble on his chin, trying to recall how old his children were now. It seemed they were all still the gangly offspring of his late wife; they had never grown up.

Odelia interrupted his thoughts as she snapped her fingers. "Ah, what of that other girl? The plainer one with the brown hair and gray eyes?"

"Celia?"

"I suppose that is her name. She seems old enough to be leaving the nest, or she should have already. The dear isn't beautiful, but she's pretty enough and although she doesn't seem to know or do much, she is meek to an almost exasperating degree. I don't see why you didn't just get rid of her to one of the young men around here."

The brown-haired man considered her words, disregarding her obvious dislike of the girl. Celia had always been a diligent worker, taking on the work someone else couldn't perform. Would the farm be able to operate without her constant assistance?

Finally he sighed. "Well, my dear, again you have cut me to the quick. But, if you please, I have something to suggest to you…"

A few weeks after the wedding announcement, the elder siblings called Celia into the kitchen. Their father and his sweetheart had left for town that afternoon, making marriage arrangements. Andrew had stayed home from the shop that day to record the profits and deficits from the harvest as he had been for a few days now. The harvest had come and gone after only two days, verifying the major insufficiency that had befallen the farm. It was in a shortage of profits, and the family knew that they had to do everything to keep their heads above water.

Entering the kitchen, Celia promptly rested the bottles of milk on the tabletop, wiping her forehead with her soiled apron. Fiddling with the caps of the bottles, she asked, "What is it?"

Bethany stood up from her seat next to Andrew. "Celia," she began, her face somber, "the profits have been calculated, and it's clear that the farm hasn't a chance. The crops were skimpy and frail, despite your attempts to keep them thriving, which we appreciate so much. Father's wedding is causing us to squander many required dollars, but we can't help it." She sighed and looked at the floor, then back to the face of her sister. "Your brother and I have discussed this with Father and Odelia, who brought this up. You see, since Father insists that he is needed here on the farm, which means we will not be having an extra income." She winced visibly.

"Go on," Celia said, her voice wrought with concern.

"All of the older children are needed here, including me. Andrew's work at the shop is also necessary for our survival, which gives us only one choice." She gazed at Celia with wavering brown eyes. "We have decided that you, Celia, meet the requirements needed to provide us with extra profits."

Celia, speechless, stood agape, her voice unable to emit itself. Her sister noted her baffled look, and explained further by taking a yellowed paper from the pile scattered around Andrew. Smoothing it on her apron, she said, "Father made contact with a former acquaintance, Miss Vesta. Before we came here, as you know, Celia, Miss Vesta was kind enough to send produce to us. It was her ranch that inspired Papa, and it would be a good place for you regardless; you wouldn't be so homesick there."

"Why didn't I have a say in this?" Celia asked with her newfound voice.

Bethany's face sagged in sorrow. "It was Father's and Odelia's decision, but it was up to us to...to tell you." She sounded forlorn and mildly frustrated.

Celia slowly eased herself into a nearby seat, staring unseeing at the table. Her mind was incapable of comprehending the sudden distortion of events, and she wasn't quite sure if her heart could handle it. The old farm was all she had ever known, and all she ever wished to know.

"When will I be leaving?" she finally asked.

Andrew spoke before Bethany had a chance to. Still concentrating on his work, he replied, "Father and Odelia requested right after the wedding."

"_Right_ after the wedding?" Celia exclaimed.

"The morn after," Bethany said, her words marked with woe. "Father said that if we were to regain the money lost, we'd have to start straight away. And besides, we're having the wedding up at Henlopen Acres, which is right on the shore. It…it would be more convenient to send you on your way from there than have to come back and travel many miles back again."

Celia nodded her head forlornly. "I understand. I know it would have come to this anyway."

Bethany was noticeably startled by her sister's ease in acceptance. She went to comfort the girl, but she rose and trotted up the stairs before the older girl could reach her. She and Andrew exchanged glances before Bethany was needed to console the wailing baby outside.

Celia sat on her bed within the room that she used to share with Bethany, when they were younger. The two were close then—almost like two bodies of one. They were each other's other half, and they vowed that when they married their beloveds, they'd be farm neighbors.

Of course, as Bethany grew older, she began to find these childhood dreams inane whims, and she strayed further and further from her sister's pact. Celia, being the lenient soul she always was, didn't stress herself over her sister's distancing, although she admitted to herself more than once that being friendless had its tribulations.

Grasping the picture at her bedside, Celia laid prone on her quilted sheets, gazing at the yellowed and worn image. In the background rested the farm, handsome even then. On the foreground posed eleven individuals, the family that resided in the dwelling behind them.

Celia rubbed the dust from her mother's face, smiling and optimistic. She had inherited her mother's looks, the only thing that she really had from her at all. Her mother wasn't a collector of substance, which left next to nothing for anyone to claim at her death. But Celia didn't know if she liked looking like her mother—when people commented on the fact, it only made her cringe with agony inside, despite the brilliant smile that shone from the out.

In spite of the afternoon sun dappling the room, Celia soon began to drift into slumber, her churning mind soon eased its frenzy, and she spiraled into the realm of her fantasies.

"_Miss Celia, would you come here please?" the schoolhouse's teacher called from the doorstep. _

_Setting down her crown of grass and weeds, Celia bounded up the steps and before her instructor, who stood with a note in her hand and her face taunt with an undistinguishable expression. "Mrs. Shannon, is that my spelling test? I just want to say—"_

_"Don't fret yourself, dear, it's not your test. In fact, you did quite well on it. Perhaps even better than your sister," Mrs. Shannon replied._

_Celia's round eyes grew rounder. "No, it's not possible. Beth is your best student."_

_Mrs. Shannon rested her hand on Celia's shoulder, leading her inside. "Now, you know that a teacher can have more than one outstanding student." She sat down at her desk and sifted erratically through various papers that swelled there. Without glancing up, she called, "Bethany, would you come up here, please?" she asked._

_Celia whirled around, facing the rows of desks that ruled the small room. She hadn't even noticed her older sister residing there, silently scrawling on a brown paper. Had Bethany heard her talking? _

_"Yes ma'am, Mrs. Shannon. I just finished redoing my test," Bethany said, blowing past Celia, her head high and her brown eyes solid with dignity. _

_"What test?" Celia blurted. Even though she was the mature age of thirteen, and her youthful tongue still occasionally formulated statements that often needn't to be expressed._

_But Bethany was already at Mrs. Shannon's desk, standing rigid as the teacher scanned the page, periodically making a mark. "Overall, Miss Bethany, this spelling test looks much better than your previous—not your usual work, but good regardless. But perhaps you should speak to Celia about study habits so you can do better."_

_Bethany had always been the sanctimonious prodigy in Piney Grove's single school, always doing above and beyond in her work and looking down her nose at those who didn't, even at her age of sixteen. Most girls her age had already found themselves a spouse, but the girls' mother had insisted they stay in school, which "was the future of America's children". And even to that day, Bethany sometimes even avoided recess to stay inside and assist the teacher with anything that needed assistance. At times that meant cleaning the slates, which Celia didn't understand. While she was benevolent and obliging, she never could comprehend why her sister would sacrifice the outside and crisp air to stay inside and dust._

_The thought of asking Celia for help on schoolwork appalled Bethany, and she let it show as she faced Celia._

_"What did you want _me_ for, Mrs. Shannon?" Celia finally inquired._

_The teacher snapped up abruptly, as if she had forgotten her pupils before her. "Oh, yes, that's right. Actually I needed both of you, fancy that," she said, picking up the same piece of paper she had when she had summoned Celia. Tucking her small glasses onto her nose, she skimmed the note before laying it back down._

_"What is it?" Bethany asked, her voice permeated with apprehension._

_"I've just received a message from your family that you are wanted back home, but it is not specified why. Is everything okay?"_

_Bethany's eyes flashed with realization and concern. "I hope so, but Celia and my other siblings will go back to make sure." She grasped Celia's wrist and tugged her away, racing out the door. "Thank you, Mrs. Shannon!" the older girl called over her shoulder._

_Once the four other children were collected, the lot retrieved their necessary possessions and scurried down the dirt path and into downtown Piney Grove. The small settlement wasn't one of many people, and mostly consisted of farmers and average workers. Celia found the place tranquil and ideal, and couldn't help but smile as they raced through._

_Everything from the schoolhouse to home was a blur of movement and dialogue. With a sudden flicker, the group of dusty children sprung onto the porch and into the house._

_"Hold on there, children. Why, the lot of you look like you've seen a ghost. I suppose you received the message, then," the man said, his laughter loomed above them. With a glance up, Celia found it was the genial town doctor. _

_Bethany seized his forearm. "What is it? Is it her? What—"_

_The doctor slumped noticeably and his face transformed into a haggard, remorseful expression. "I'm afraid there isn't much longer…why don't you go visit her? The disease is infectious no longer, but it still wages war against her body. And I'm sorry to say…" the man said, but his voice was lost as the children clambered up the stairs._

_At their parent's door, they were met with a sudden waft of despondency and grief. The room was bright and merry, as their mother liked it, but the atmosphere was dark and it nullified the cheer. An immobile figure lie in a wooden-framed bed, swathed in many sheets. At its side sat a man, bent in anguish. _

_Bethany emitted a soft gasp. "Father…" she whispered, rushing to his side and laying her hand on his shoulder. The other children followed not far behind._

_The man shook his head, which rested in his hands. "She's gone," he murmured._

_Although muffled by his palms, the entire room heard, and everyone ceased to talk, and some to breathe. Celia turned to the figure, whose face was void of pain and suffering, and now cast a look of serenity and tranquility. Her pink lips curled ever so slightly into a smile, which contrasted the looks of those in the room._

_Celia's vision blotched, and the world around her began to fade into a fog. The last of the voices she heard was, "…it was cholera, but maybe it was the thought that Piney Grove was beginning to transform into an industrialized city instead of a rural town that broke her…"_

_When the suffocating fog lifted, a fierce, biting wind rumpled her hair and clothes, sending a shiver up her spine. Wrapping arms about her, Celia raced down the stairs and outside to the barnyard and crop fields, which were bare of any form of life. Green weeds and flowers were all that grew there, and even began to drift up the house. A paper waved there, and with closer inspection, Celia realized it was a foreclosure notice. _

_She gasped and jumped back, shaking her head. "No, no, it can't be. It's not possible." She grasped the fluttering paper and crumbled it, hurling out of her sight, as if it would convince her that it wasn't true. _

_A moment later there came a shattering whistle in the direction that she had flung the paper. The wind died down momentarily as the whole world seemed to hold its breath. _

_Beyond, the trees began to quiver, and the ground beneath Celia's feet quaked as a rumbling beast emerged from afar. It was of the greatest machines Celia had ever imagined, its mass being much larger than her house. It was the color of steel, although it was dull and lacked lust, which only added to its ominous bearing. From its horn breathed smoke, and within it glowed red from the fueling fire. Before the great fiend unfurled tracks for it to run on, making it appear to be emitting spidery legs and crawling along the ground, chasing its prey._

_The sky flashed and altered into dark, churning clouds. Thunder roared from the heavens as everything in the monster's path died and wilted into dead, brown oblivion. Speechless and frozen by her fear, Celia remained rooted in the creature's path, her hair whipping about as she watched her childhood home transform into barren wasteland._

_The great beast proceeded with great speed, advancing upon the young woman who stood in its path. Its lights glared at her, blinding her almost completely. On its front, pasted by the wind, gripped the foreclosure note, verifying itself and Celia's fears._

_As the monster approached her, it shrieked a warning, but did not slow. Celia could hear her heart beat as the machine descended upon her, crying its threat… _


	3. A Resurrected Past

A/N: Updating so soon? Why yes, I am. It's the only other chapter I have typed, and I won't have time in the next couple of days to update, so I've decided to get it over with. This chapter is really where everything begins to snowball into the impending plot, so if you happen to have stumbled across this story and don't feel like reading all of it, read this chapter. It and the next chapter are very important to the story and all that may ensue. Oh, and review, of course.

Speaking of reviews, hurrah for my all-time record of 3 reviews (yeah baby)! I'm hoping that ya'll will have some company up in that review box if I leave this out long enough...but I haven't had much luck with my other stories, so I'm learning to try to be patient. I know it can be a pain to read and review, just because some of us are lazy, but hey, I cabbage patch dance when I get a review (and other authors, I know you do too ). If nothing else, that should at least amuse you. Are frighten you, either one. XD

And to answer your question, King of Apple Pie, yes, this is before Celia moves to Forget Me Not. Her family _is_ just a tad troubled, but only a tad (and it's only just beginning cackle). Don't worry about sounding like a moron, because you don't, and there is absolutely no way you can beat me at that game. Trust me.

_DISCLAIMER_: No, I don't own Harvest Moon, but I do own Celia's family and all of the other families that have and will come into play. You don't want them anyway; they came from my head, which is not always a safe place to be. O.o And now you know why Celia's family is troubled. XD

Okay, Cimey, time to shut up now and try to make some sense. Let the readers actually get to read the story. (Aww, but I don't wanna)

**Blessings in Disguise**

_Chapter Three_

"Girl, Miss Odelia will not be very patient much longer!" the buxom Odelia called from the bottom of the staircase, donned in another one of her ostentatious traveling costumes. "I simply cannot be late for my own wedding!"

"I can assure you that you won't," Celia muttered to herself, her voice escalating, "since the wedding is in _two days_!"

"What was that?"

But she paid no heed. Swiping her hair up into a practical bun, Celia nodded to herself in affirmation and scuttled from her room, pausing at the rotting doorframe to take in the little space she called her room one more time. Her eyes drifted from her chest to her bedside table, and eventually to the bed she shared with her younger sister. But what seized her attention was her window, which allowed her a clear view of the entire farm and provided her with a sense of love and affection. The window was truly the best point on the entire farmhouse—giving Celia a beautiful view of a remarkable landscape despite the weather or season. When she gazed from its sill, her heart welled up with love for her life, despite the circumstances that occasionally put bump on the road. From there she could sit and think—muse on what the land beyond told her; what it held.

"Celia!" The voice startled the young woman, for it was not Odelia's. It was her father's.

"Coming, Papa!" she called down the stairs, tearing her eyes from the welcoming windowsill that she had become attached to. Scurrying down the hall and nearly toppling down the stairs in her only traveling costume, Celia startled the lot of them by her abrupt entrance, and Odelia even held her hand to her chest in exaggerated shock. Celia straightened and brushed off her dress, which had been passed down by Bethany, who now wore her mother's, as out-dated as it was.

As the thought of Bethany came across her mind, Celia noticed that he sister was standing next to Odelia, who was cradling their aunt's baby as if it were her own. Lorelle was not the children's mother's, and was instead the child of her sister, who had passed away during delivery. But despite her parents, Lorelle had always been treated as one of the family—in fact, Bethany had always regarded the infant as her own, for even at her age of twenty, she did not have her own child.

Celia could tell by the strained look on Bethany's face that she was none too happy about Odelia's possessiveness of the child. She continued to glance that way, longing glazing her eyes.

"Good Lord, child! What are those sacks you are wearing?" Odelia exclaimed at the sight of Celia.

Celia stopped in mid-step, her eyebrows raised. "Sacks?"

"It was the only traveling gown she had, and it was passed down from me," Bethany interjected.

"I can see why," Odelia muttered. She motioned at Bethany. "But your costume looks not much better."

Bethany's brows furrowed and her face tautened. "This was my mother's," she hissed.

The woman sniffed and waved her petite hand. "Strange women, these farm wives. Only allowing themselves to get by with rags."

"Well, you have little room to talk, considering you are marrying into a farming family!" Bethany exclaimed, the buttons of her anger being pushed more than it was safe to. Odelia glanced at her with an appalled expression, but before her beau could interfere, she pushed him away and followed him out the door, her nose aimed at the sky.

Bethany stared after her for a moment before snapping her head away and bowing it, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. She wore one of her mother's hats, which kept her expression hidden from the stricken and slighted Celia. The girl gazed at her older sister, her eyebrows wilting in sympathy, chewing on her lower lip intensely. She knew how hard this all was on Bethany, although sometimes she wished she would know how hard it all was on her little sister. Bethany would return to the farm and all she knew, while Celia would be shipped many miles away like processed goods. And she would probably not return for a long, long time. _If ever_.

Averting her head, Celia rested her chin on her palm, her elbow supported by the banister. Tears stung behind her eyes like a mighty river pounding at a dam threatening to break. Her glazed eyes stared into the unused parlor room, where her mother's piano still sat, waiting for their mistress to return and show off their beautiful voices. But she wouldn't return, and just like the family, they would mourn her absence for the rest of their existence. Although Odelia could fill in at both rolls, she was not their mother or performer.

Celia could almost here her mother play at Christmastide, shrouding them all in a blanket of peace and vivacity. The woman would play and play, and just when the family would least expect it, she would will them into the kitchen for the Christmas feast, where they laughed and gorge themselves on whatever portion of the harvest they could muster. Snow would fall softly outside the windows, and the barn would glow with a warm light as the children's father and Andrew would go to bid the livestock goodnight.

"Oh, Celia, I'm sorry," Bethany whimpered, pulling her little sister down from the stairs and wrapping her in her arms. Celia was momentarily startled out of her somber daydreams, but the protection of her sister's arms reminded her too much of her mother, and she buried her head into Bethany's shoulder. Their sniffles were muted against each other, but despite how hard they tried, the tears that had been lingering rushed forward.

Celia pulled away after a moment. Wiping her eyes, she asked, "For what? You've been nothing but a good sister to me for all my sixteen years."

Bethany smiled sadly through the dampness that glowed on her face. Taking her sister's hands in her own, she said, "I'm just sorry it's had to end like this. I'm sorry you have to leave without getting a chance to look back."

Celia stared at her in sudden awareness. She averted her gaze to the kitchen down the hall, her heart welling up with the pent-up emotion she had tried to suppress, her lips rolling inward as if to stifle it. It was just those words spoken by Bethany that burst open a whole new sensation of loss and forsaking. She could scarcely contain the sudden stabs of emotions slicing away at her vulnerable heart.

"Oh—oh no. Celia, I'm sorry, I really am. I can't believe I just said that…. Celia?" Bethany spluttered, releasing her hold on her sister's hands to wipe away the girl's tears. Celia's angelically round face turned to her, her large eyes even larger and boring holes into Bethany's soul with their sad gaze.

"Listen, I'll always be here for you, you don't have to worry about coming home to closed arms. No matter what happens," Bethany lifted her chin, willing Celia's eyes to return to her own, "I will always be your sister."

Celia's bottom lip quivered with obvious restraint to tears. Her eyes glazed over with fresh tears, but she did not seek shelter in her sister's arms so that they may be hidden as they fell. Instead, she stepped back and smiled weakly, wiping her eyes and sighing shaky sighs.

"Girls, what are you waiting for?" the bellowing voice of their father erupted from the doorway. Celia looked up at him, her glassily reddened eyes striking him a blow. Bethany's face was as well tearstained, but the man shook of the eating pity and misgiving that gnawed hungrily at his heart. They were simply female, and that meant they had a tumult of emotions that remained unrestrained. It wasn't like there was much to cry about anyway.

Bethany glanced briefly at her younger sister, who was trying with all the might she had left to look like she was eagerly anticipating their departure. Looking back to her father, the older girl met his expecting glare with a smile. "We just wanted to make sure everything was in order before we left," she lied lamely, tossing in an uneasy chuckle.

"Just come along," her father replied, "Odelia is becoming particularly concerned she may be late."

Bethany glanced at Celia and shrugged at the incredulous expression that met her. Lifting up her skirts delicately, the older girl left the house and followed her father to the awaiting wagon. Celia began to follow her, but paused long enough to trace the worn designs on the banister and study her surroundings. How she would truly miss her home. How she would miss everything she had once had.

She sighed forlornly and reluctantly willed herself out the door and down the porch steps. The other children chanted for her to hurry, and she played along and ran to Andrew, who lifted her up into the back of the wagon. Their father asked if everyone was set, and once he received a satisfactory accord, he slapped the horse's rumps and they began to proceed. The other children laughed and giggled as Andrew acted as if he was being left behind, and once he hopped into the wagon bed, the younger children snickered and tried to shove him back out. They were enthralled with the prospect of a road trip, but as they rumbled down the dirt road, Celia couldn't help but pause and gaze back through the clouds of dust—where her home rose in regal maturity like a beacon of hope. Like a beacon of sanctuary and happiness.

"So long, self," Celia murmured. The family farm was who she was—mature and unchanging. But now she knew she must become a new person, someone who accepted change with open arms and dealt with the consequences. She knew she must leave her old self where it lingered—home.

Giving the disappearing farm a brief, sad smile, she turned back around, jumping back into the fading games of her younger siblings.

_Celia was dumbfounded at what her ears had just perceived. Was what the young man before her disclosed true? Or was it another one of his notorious games?_

_The handsome boy before her took her hands again and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about anything, Celia. I'll be back before you know it, and then I'll take you as my wife," he said, stroking her cheek with his finger, gazing at her affectionately._

_Celia withdrew with a defiant lurch. "How could you leave me like this? How could you leave Piney Grove?" she cried with obvious resentment. Her fingers curled into fists to suppress her mounting distress and fury._

_"You don't understand, Celia," the young man continued. "This is what I want to do—I don't want to cultivate soil anymore…don't you see? In the years to come, farming isn't going to be the mode of Piney Grove. People are going to have to work themselves instead of the land. I want to get a head start and help not only Piney Grove, but all of the other little communities around here." He grasped Celia's hands and beamed with excitement. "We can help develop the future, Celia."_

_The girl jerked away. "We, Don?" she asked incredulously. "There is not 'we' if you insist on leaving me and all that the both of us have worked for." Tears pricked her eyes, reluctant to show themselves, but her voice betrayed her. She hated to see what she did, but her anger was operating her tongue now._

_The boy who Celia had addressed as Don wilted and took her shoulders. "Oh, Celia. Please don't be like that. You know how I feel about you." He drew her closer, despite her wriggles. _

_"Obviously you don't feel much but indifference for me, since…since" but her words were severed by choking noises as the woe in her heart flooded through its barriers. Tears ran down her face and she made odd blubbering noises as she attempted to stifle her weeping. But her discontent clouted Don harder than any physical blow, and he pulled her into his arms as a shelter of solace. He knew she hadn't been as angry as she made herself look—only distraught, and rage was the only way to hide the vulnerability. Argument was not the answer, he knew, as she closed her fingers around his shirt, her tears seeping through the fabric. She sobbed like any broken-hearted fifteen-year-old would, and Don could barely make anything she said._

_But he did discern one statement made by his beau. "Oh, Don, I just don't want you to go. I don't want everything to change." She drew a shaky breath and tried to pacify herself._

_Don ran his fingers through her glossy chocolate hair, his cheek resting upon the top of her head, the silkiness of her locks soothing him. "It's never easy to say goodbye," he murmured. "It won't be forever, I will promise you that." With his arms still wrapped about her, he withdrew and stared her in the eye. "But will you promise me one thing?"_

_Celia nodded vigorously as she wiped the moisture off her face with her fingers. "I'd do anything for you."_

_"Promise me," Don said, "promise me you'll be waiting for me the same way you did at recess when we were children—standing on your tiptoes with a smudge on your face. Can you promise me that?" Her amused smile initiated one from him, and she laughed, shifting her gaze to the ground and back to him again._

_"I can."_

_Beaming with radiant joy, Don swooped down and drew her into an affection kiss, both of their worries forgotten for the time being. But slowly Don began to fade before Celia's eyes, and as their lips parted, she was horrified as she watched him slowly evaporate into the void, bidding her goodbye and reminding her of his love for her His translucent fingers slipped from her grasp, his form drifting father and farther away. Celia cried out for him, but he only shook his head, his eyes soft. And before the young girl could believe it, Don was vanished from their small place of solace in the wood. It was all too soon. All so sudden and unbelievable._

_"Oh, Don," she whimpered pathetically. Tears running afresh, she crumpled to her knees, cradling her grief-warped face in her palms. Her bawls wracked her shoulders and her heart, disrupting the ostensible peace of the wood. Her heart pierced her from the inside as it shattered, along with her naivety as she realized that it was their youthful passion for each other that temporarily veiled the troubles of the world around them. This recognition sobered her into sad silence one sob at a time, and she allowed herself to collapse on the forest floor, cushioned by the pine needles sprinkled on the ground. The sunlight streamed from above, and slowly Celia felt herself fade away just as her beloved had…away from the place she once knew. _

"Celia? Celia, wake up," a voice pressed, followed by a gentle shake of her shoulders. Celia moaned as her eyelids peeked open, but reality suddenly struck her and she bolted upright, the person at her side jerking back to avoid being hit. The fading sunlight blinded her momentarily with its unexpectedness, but that wasn't what she was conscious of first. She could feel on her face a dampness—a dampness that she knew could only come from the expression tears. Startled, she brought her fingers to her face, swiping at the wetness and removing her hand and holding it before her eyes as if to study the reality of it.

"Celia, are you all right? You were blubbering like a baby." It was the same voice as before, and Celia immediately recognized it as masculine. Turning her head to the person beside her, she was further startled to find Andrew crouching next to her, balancing himself with on hand clutching the side of the wagon.

"What? I was?" Celia asked, her expression aghast. She wasn't often an animated sleeper.

Andrew nodded, a spark of amusement twinkling in his brown eyes. "Bethany couldn't wake you up, so I took it upon myself. You sure are a mighty heavy sleeper." He grinned and rumpled her already-disheveled locks and retreated, his replacement being Bethany.

She reached out and ran her fingers through Celia's mussed hair, motioning for her to turn so she could plait it. "I know this is all hard on you," she began after some silence, "and you've made it painfully clear that maybe it is too hard. If you really can't withstand going through with all of this…" she paused and let her hands drop to her lap. Celia swiveled her abdomen around so that she was facing her old sister, whose eyes were averted. Feeling the younger's gaze, Bethany continued, murmuring, "…you don't have to."

Celia's astonished expression returned, and she began to deny that her unconscious weeping was because of what laid ahead. But she bit back the words and bowed her head, twiddling her fingers. Shaking her head slowly, she replied to her sister, "No."

Bethany's head shot up. "No? But…"

Celia returned her gaze to Bethany, her stare unfaltering. "Either way I am being separated from my home. But if I remained, the guilt of knowing I could have helped save the farm would weigh too heavy on my shoulders." She took her sister's hands. "I know it seems like this is all too great a duty for someone like me, but this is what I want to do. If I don't, how will I ever grow stronger?"

Bethany wiped her eyes and offered a weak laugh. "Another good reason for you to go work at Vesta's," said a voice, but it was not Bethany's. Both girls turned abruptly to find Andrew lounging next to them. Sighing, he sat up and clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. "Celia," he continued, his gaze fixed on her eyes, "we all know you are trying to be strong, but don't bury how you feel just to have them resurrected later. We understand if this is all too trying on you."

Celia opened her mouth to protest, but Andrew cut her off. "If nothing else, Celia, go out to Forget-Me-Not Valley for your health. When you were a wee little gal when we lived in town, you were always ailing. It got better once we moved out to the country, but you were still often below par. Forget-Me-Not is known to be a decent place for those who are…" he paused, unsure of how to word what he wanted to say without actually saying it. "Uh, for those that…"

"For those who are sickly?" Celia asked with a small smile.

"You're not sickly, Celia," Bethany said. "You're just not as pink as the rest of us."

The younger girl cast soft smiles at the both of them. "I know you are concerned, but I'll be fine, really." She paused and added, almost as an afterthought, "What the future holds is not all that ails me."

"What?" Bethany asked, leaning forward as if to hear what was said better.

Celia shook her head to dissolve the issue. Her dream was nothing but the past teasing her—it was nothing to get serious or emotional about. He'd never returned, so what did it matter? Neither youth felt a passion burning in their heart anymore. Celia felt something burning, but from what she could feel, it wasn't romantic passion.

She smiled slightly, a spark of hope alighting itself. Maybe Don would return, maybe he would swoop her up into that kiss she so loved, and declare his love for her. Maybe her knight in shining armor would come back to rescue his maiden in distress. It was enough faith cast into her heart that Celia smiled and leaned against the wagon sides, gazing into the sunset and daydreaming with faraway eyes. Her siblings only shook their heads and left her be—when the girl entered the realm of fantasies, it was most difficult to make her return.

---------- ----------

The younger children were bubbling with excitement as they reached Henlopen Acres at high noon the next day, receiving a varied number of glances from the residents. Everyone but the bride and groom received their luggage, which obtained sour thoughts that seeped into expressions from the three elder siblings.

Henlopen Acres was truly a sight to behold, at least for Celia. Magnificent manors rose from immaculately fertile landscapes, the glistening cove whispering lullabies. The vegetation ornamented the land in emerald splendor, and the sun shone down from the sapphire heavens with a homely glow. Birds sang in shrill voices from the lush treetops, and the occasional squirrel clambered up the trunk. Periodically a buggy rattled by, and sometimes the sound of laughter wafted up to Celia's ears. To her, Henlopen Acres was like an oversized park in the midst of something greater. Like a sanctuary.

But she was about to find that despite the charade of refuge that Henlopen and its citizens put on, it was far from perfection and peace. This was the neighborhood that Odelia had come to know so well through her childhood, which all in itself was a warning too clear to miss. And yet, Celia did.

"Come now, girl—Celia," Odelia called from the steps leading up to a porch. A glorious mansion rose up from behind it, white with a sense of opulence that both awed and demoralized the young brunette who still stood motionless at the wagon's side. Odelia continued to bark at her from beside one of the porch's pillars, but it was not her stepmother who snapped her captivated immobility.

"Celia, Celia!" the shrill cry of a child exclaimed. "Oh, Celia, look at this!"

Celia snapped her eyes from the mansion before her and turned her eyes to her younger sister, who watched with obvious amazement as a uniformed servant pried her luggage from her small hands. She watched him bow and leave her, then whirled back to face Celia with a huge grin slapped on her features.

"I feel like a princess!" she cried.

Celia opened her smile to reply, but all that emerged was a gasp as her baggage was slipped from her grasp. She turned and caught the top of the man's head as he bowed to her in a way that made her flush, and she stifled a laugh as she decided that she, too, felt like a princess. The man stood and smiled at her as if he could read her thoughts, but before it could unnerve Celia, he broke his gaze and waving to someone behind her. Celia heard the clatter of the wagon lurching to a start, and turned in time to watch another man lead their ramshackle wagon away.

"Shall I show you to your quarters, ma'am?"

Celia whirled back around and had to lean back to avoid slamming into the other servant's chest. He nodded his head toward the mansion, which Odelia was now entering. Celia smiled to the man and consented, allowing him to lead the way across the lush emerald lawn and up the ivory steps of the porch. Celia felt as if she had entered the dream of another person as she swept her eyes over the luxurious décor—and she hadn't even entered the house yet.

But when she did, she had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. Lavish furniture occupied parlors and side rooms, and masterful paintings decorated the walls, among other smaller ornaments. Flowers lit up the windows, and heavy drapes folded to the side to allow sunlight to stream into the rooms, giving it a comely appearance. Celia found herself again overcome by amazement, and suddenly felt very drab in her outdated outfit.

"Right this way, Miss," the servant said, heading up the staircase. He began to ramble about the history of the house, obviously noting Celia's acute interest. But she paid no heed to he said as a whole, and instead to the possessions he spoke of. It was awing, and the farm girl found herself wondering if she had carelessly wandered into a fairytale kingdom, where her wicked stepmother was actually a queen of some sort. It certainly appeared so.

Celia still lingered on the staircase when she heard the servant man—already at the top and growing impatient with her lack of pace—exclaim, "Oh, pardon me, sir. I didn't see you there."

The other man chuckled, and Celia broke out of her numb admiration of the residence. "No harm done; I hardly felt a thing. Who's bags might they be? I know Aunt wouldn't carry anything so light or—"

"They're mine," Celia declared as she plodded up the stairs, her voice more daring and bold than she intended them to be. The servant with her luggage blocked her view of the other man, but as he whirled to face her, that was no longer a problem. The young man behind him leaned into view, and Celia's steps faltered, and she felt her heart have a moment of failure. Again she fought to keep open surprise from shining through her features.

The young man's face lit up and he smiled in a way Celia though he was going to laugh again. "What's this? This wouldn't happen to be the young Ms. Berkley that lived on a little farm in Piney Grove would it?" His smile grew wider.

Celia was taken aback and fell into a dumb silence, her gray eyes wide and showing all of the emotion that raged from within. She stood stiffly with her hand constricting the banister, her knuckles turning white and her fingers losing circulation. The servant asked if she felt well, but she didn't hear him. All she was aware of was one thing wracking at her head and heart.

_Don._


	4. Princes and Frogs

A/N: Okay, after a long wait, here it is. Chapter Four. I worked hard on it, and now everything I have neglected is sneaking up behind me. So I hope you like it. (lol)

And the reviews...wow. Thank you so much, I am awestruck at what has been written. All I think I can say is, I think we all underestimate our abilities (everything, really). I've never saw my writing as something profoundly interesting, but I'm glad there are some out that that think the opposite. And I am thrilled to have such talented writers as my reviewers. (And, btw, I'm glad I'm not the only one who gets annoyed at better writing, I thought it was just me. Don't worry about it though, I think it's just a natural human trait.) And don't be afraid that you may offend me. Unless you leave like a forest fire of flames, I won't hold anything against you.

Again, thank so much, and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Blessings in Disguise**

_Chapter 4_

"Celia, I know you're up there. I need you to come down and get Lorelle now; that old hen Odelia has forgotten all about her. I know you can hear me, don't pretend you ca—" But as Bethany rounded the stairs and looked up, her words dissolved in her mouth, forming a sticky substance that barred any other words from trying to escape—if any could formulate now. Her body froze in its indelicate position leaning over the next step, and only her mind was stirred into action. A wave of embarrassment washed over her, her lip becoming ensnared in her teeth as she tried to disband the sensation. But yet, as her eyes drank in the sight before her, her brain weighed it like barterer, trying to gather what truly she saw, she couldn't help but feel a strange feeling of familiarity. _Was that…? Could it be…? No, its impossible…uncanny resemblance, maybe. Yes, that's it…_

_Don't be such a fool…what if it is…? How could…? _

Bethany gave a choked noise, her fingers crawling up to her collar bone as if it would help extract the barricade of oral fluids that had built up there. The sudden sound drew Don's eyes to her, to her utterly speechless look and startled noise. Bethany Berkley. Celia Berkley's comely older sister.

"Don?" she squeaked, experimenting with her voice and stepping up another step. "Don Reynolds? Is that you?"

Don stared into her inquisitive chocolate eyes, narrowed as she scrutinized him with a firm stance of curiosity. She had gotten so beautiful, like gold when thrust into the burning fires of a furnace, was removed with such a prized magnificence. Bethany Berkley, too, had been thrust into the roaring flames within a furnace of agony and suffering, but made it out stronger than when she had come in. She had always been an inspiration to him as a young boy, watching her effortlessly ace school quizzes and smoothly carve ornate letters onto her shabby writing board. But that was a long time ago, and now, years later, here she stood, her face glowing with a mesh of emotions and expressions.

Suddenly her scrunched features shattered into a stunning smile, and she exclaimed, "Oh, Don, it is you!" Her chest heaved and her smile grew wider, a soft sigh seeping out, illustrating her overwhelming feeling of amazement and initial disbelief as the realization dawned upon her. Her heart thudded from somewhere beneath the palm that rested over it, the blood pumping vigorously through her veins. She gave another sigh-like moan, clutching her skirts in her fingers and surpassed the stationary Celia as she raced up the remainder of the steps. Her feet stretched over two stairs every step, and by the time she reached the landing where the servant and Don stood, she had gathered quite an amount of momentum, which almost propelled the old friend as she launched a strangling embrace on him.

Her arms folded around his neck, and her ear pressed up against his jaw. She didn't seem to notice that he was fighting not to topple backwards, but did feel his hands patting her back, almost hesitantly, as he returned the hug. "Oh, Don, you don't know how truly happy I am to see you here," she breathed in a shaky voice that betrayed her raging emotions. And as if an after thought, she realized what she had said, she unclenched her eyelids and withdrew from the young man's arms, staring at him quizzically. "What _are_ you doing here?"

Don smiled weakly. "It's…a matter of connections, Miss Berkley. The young Mr. Percy Roemer just happens to be mine."

Bethany's expression melted into slight incredulity. "Percy Roemer?"

Her skepticism turned his easy lenience into a comfortable seriousness. "He' son of Perry Roemer, God rest his soul. He's taking over the business now, being the only child of his. Olivia declined—"

"I don't know these people," Bethany said flatly.

Don wavered before smiling in understanding., making a pensive noise. "Then I am curious as to why you are here." He looked over Bethany's shoulder to Celia, who had collected herself and was clutching her skirts in her fists. "Impatience, maybe?" His teasing smile birthed butterflies in the pits of Celia, and she felt her nails indent her palms, despite the fabric separating them. She clenched her teeth to ward off the warmth seeping into her pallid face. She seemed awkward and discomfited, and her unease was a mystery to Don. What had come about during his absence that made his love so discomforted in his presence? Or was she simply overwhelmed? His mind mulled over what could possibly be ailing her heart, and yet his own heart was barking at him to sweep her aside and steal a few comforting kisses, just to…

Bethany glanced back at Celia and then Don. She averted her eyes to the luxurious carpet cradling her feet and felt bitterness souring her mouth. She mused over the current events, and she pursed her lips to sever her mounting acrimony. She turned Odelia's name over in her mind, her fists clenching unconsciously. As much as she hated to say it—as if it would validate the situation—she exhaled loudly and picked her words carefully. Brusquely and abruptly, she blurted, "Our father is remarrying." Her words were embroidered with the acid of resentment.

Don's eyes lit up as all the puzzle pieces began to fit together. "Odelia," he breathed, the one word paralleled with a complete explanation. Bethany nodded at him sadly, her eyes glazing over and twinkling with sorrow. She felt her heart twist around, as if embarrassed of herself in the eyes of this long-time friend. As if her façade was shattered and she and her flaws stood naked in the line his familiar gaze.

"Odelia's Perry's sister, and the youngest of the three," Don finally put in, and Bethany could only nod sullenly. "Percy insisted that I attend this, as I've become—"

"Bethany!"

The voice was throaty and masculine; no doubt her father's. She tried to hide the irked expression prodding at her face as she turned on her heel, just as her father rounded the corner of the stair. He looked slightly frazzled and an edgy gleam flickered within his eyes, and Bethany fought against a frown. What was it now?

"Bethany, I thought I told you to—oh, excuse me," the gleam in his eyes gave one last glimmer before fading away, and the man collected himself as neatly as he could as his eyes found Don. He didn't recognize the boy immediately, but his face did look vaguely familiar. "I don't mean to intrude, but my daughter is needed downstairs." He shot a sharp glance at the girl.

"Father," she said, ignoring what he had said, "this is Don Reynolds, George's boy. You remember George and Don, _don't you father_?" Her words were pointed and commanding, as if speaking to a loose-lipped toddler. It was a tone she had taken up recently with the groom, and although he didn't like it, he couldn't find it in him to attempt to punish the unruly girl in front of his wife-to-be when he knew he would most likely fail. Twenty-year-old women such as her were simply too hard to tame.

He stared at Bethany hard before replying, "Yes, of course I remember. Ol' George was our finest customer down in the shop." His gaze narrowed as he looked at Don, as if recalling something. "And you're the boy that Celia was always sneaking off with, yes?"

Don and Celia's faces both ruptured like a volcano, spilling scalding red lava throughout their faces. They stood open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the man who had spoken, their hearts thrashing against the walls of their chests at the white-hot warmth creeping over their bodies, set in open mortification. Even Bethany was bewildered at what her father had mentioned so carelessly, insensitive of the utter humiliation he would bestow upon the two youths. And even now, while all three young people—as well as the completely lost servant who still lingered with Celia's baggage—he didn't seem to notice how tongue-tied those he had mentioned were, their faces radiating the crimson heat of sheer embarrassment.

As the groom stood awaiting an answer, scanning the faces of the others, an uncomfortable silence settled over them, causing Don and Celia to feel all the more unnerved. Don rubbed the nape of his neck with his palm, a sticky wetness coating it. His eyes cowered and feared snatching a glimpse at the young woman standing at the stairs, who was feeling as clumsy as he was.

Her father suddenly clapped his hands and splintered the shroud of silence, startling Celia. He switched his gaze to Bethany, who gave him a sharp stare, pressing him into action. "Well, a pleasure to, ah, meet up with you again, Reynolds. I hate to leave on such a note," he gave barbed glance at his daughters, "but my Odelia is waiting for Melanie and I."

Bethany's face tilted down and she stared up at her father, her breast heaving with an obvious constraint against anger. "My name is _Bethany_," she said, fighting a snarling tone.

Her father snatched her wrist, and she grimaced at the strength of it. "So excuse us," he said, then wrenched Bethany from the landing. Don's voice caught in his throat, and all he could do was watch as Bethany stumbled down the stairs behind her father, and listen to her protests once they rounded the corner. What _had_ truly happened during his absence?

Celia turned around from watching her kin disappear. She glanced at Don and quickly looked away, pausing awkwardly. She finally opened her mouth, hesitated, and built up her courage, her gaze returning to Don's. "I…I have to be going t-too. Uh, excuse me," she said in that subdued voice of hers, her eyes turning away from him. She hiked up the stairs with more vigor than needed, grabbing her carpetbag and case from the bewildered servant, who snapped back just in time to tell her where her room was. She nodded and brushed past the two men, who watched her leave, Don unable to retrieve his voice to call after her. And by the time he felt the words formulating on his tongue, she was gone, the door to her room giving a muffled thump as it shut.

* * *

Bethany bounced Lorelle easily on her hip as she mashed leftover vegetables in a porcelain bowl. The child wailed at the unfamiliar sights and smells surrounding her, the ladies having tea in the other room snatching appalled glances at the two of them. Bethany thought of shutting the swinging door that separated the two rooms, but by the heavy gossip the women were prattling on about in savory tones, she couldn't find it in herself to do so. _If I am going to survive here, I have to at least understand what's happening to whom…_

"Right, Lorelle?" she voiced her thoughts to the blubbering child, who gazed at her with wide, glassy steel blue eyes. Her curly harvest gold locks shivered on her head as she bounced around, and Bethany could only smile. How she wished to marry and have a little one of her own. How she wished Lorelle were her child instead of her cousin, who only played the part of her sister.

Bethany turned her gaze back down to the mashed food that breathed out a pungent aroma. She sighed. "But that could never be, could it, darling, since Odelia has stolen you for herself?" She looked at Lorelle, who had quieted, and made a puckering face, speaking in a childlike tone. "You don't like that mean old rat, do you, darling? She holds you all wrong, and forgets you in the face of—"

"Bethany!"

Bethany's puckered look transformed into a grimacing growl as the voice akin to that of a squawking hen poked a hole in her comfortable realm of familiarity. She had begun to loathe her name, especially when Odelia or her fellow matrons and widows voiced it. It sounded plain and coarse coming from their lips, not smooth and velvety as her mother made it sound. Even Lorelle didn't seem to like it, as she made noises that threatened an upcoming sob.

A curse rose from Bethany's throat, and she barked it in concurrently with the shriek coming from the boiling teapot. Lorelle's face twisted and warped, turning crimson, then let out a wail that was in tune with the teapot. Bethany growled and turned on her heel, the wooden spoon she had been stirring the child's mush with catching the side of the bowl and dragging off the edge. The cry of shatter glass harmonized with the wailing teapot and child, and Bethany's face began to turn as crimson as her little sister's. She roared another curse, stormed to the teapot, and wrenched it from its spot, hauling into the next room. Stray hairs wriggled from its bun and stuck to her sodden brow, her brown eyes gleaming dangerously. The matrons gasped in horror as the sobbing child and murderous-faced woman entered the room, their hands flying to their breasts as Bethany slammed the pot on the empty basket that at one time held golden biscuits.

"Heaven above, what in the Lord's name has come over you?" Odelia exclaimed, her bug eyes boggling. Her eyes found Lorelle's contorted features, and she reached out her hands. "Give me my child."

Bethany had no strength left to hide her revolted expression. Angry words choked her, so many of them trying to make it out at one time. She stared in open horrification at the woman, thoroughly appalled at what she had so boldly spoken. And before she could stop herself, spoke up.

"You are a brave woman, _Mrs. Berkley_. Even as disreputable it is to bear children out of wedlock, you speak of it so freely and without shame. How _humbling_."

Odelia's mouth dropped open into a perfect oval, her mortification radiating off of her face. Her teacup chipped its plate as she dropped it, her hand frozen as if it were still holding the handle. She didn't seem to breathe, as if all time had halted at the Bethany's words. The young woman struggled to keep a straight face, but a smug smile made her lips twitch. Lorelle's wails ceased for a moment as she looked at Odelia, soft giggles bubbling up from the infant. Bethany hugged her closer, letting herself grin politely and without restraint. She wished Celia could be there with her, to relish the open gawks from the crones sitting about the table in their finest tea gowns. To relish the aghast stare of the pallid and unprepared Odelia.

Eventually Odelia found her voice. "Why, how…. That's completely…. How dar—you imprudent…what makes…why…" She gave a sheepish chuckle and turned her gaze to the hot stares of the other women, attempting to put together the right words to let them know that all of what her stepdaughter had spoken was completely and utterly untrue.

Bethany, content with herself, turned about and began to leave the room, but the shaky voice of the slighted woman at the table roped her down. "Don't you walk off like that, Berkley. You will go get the fresh biscuits and a new basket, and will join us for tea." Her voice was slow and wobbly, betraying her restraint to lash out in anger that fed from her mortification. And suddenly Bethany felt sick, and her legs trembled from beneath her skirts. _The sweetness of victory never comes without the bitterness of fatality, _she thought weakly.

Without turning around, Bethany left the room and entered the kitchen, where she set a wide-eyed Lorelle on the counter. To calm her nerves, she quickly swept up the remains of Lorelle's meal, scooping up the shattered porcelain shards and distributing the mush to the various cats that roamed the house.

"Where's Celia?" Bethany thought aloud, her words shrouded in anger. _Where is that girl?_

The sounds of footsteps overcame the snivels of Lorelle and the hushed voices of the matrons in the other room, both startling and unnerving Bethany. What if it were her father, coming to punish her for her sharp tongue? Or Don, who would see her in this eccentric state? Or another one of the Roeners, who would stare at her with appalled expressions and shake their head in disappointment at Odelia's choice of marrying into this uncomely family.

But just as she thought the person would enter with the next step, the thumps of feet hitting the ground ceased, and soon the only sound was the clinking of teacups against plates and the soft prattles of the women in the other room. Bethany let out her breath with a heavy sigh, and relaxed. She scooped up Lorelle and the plate of biscuits, staring at her reflection in the window to make sure she was acceptable. She exhaled through pursed lips, preparing herself, and squared her shoulders, marching as regally as her frazzled self could manage through the doorway and into the little dining room.

The women hushed each other before Bethany could discern their conversation. They straightened in their chairs and stared at her hard and with an air of repulsion, as if scrutinizing a prostitute. She suddenly felt filthy and low before them, setting the biscuits gently next to the basket crushed by the teapot. She smiled timidly, tucking her skirts under her with her free hand and settling into an empty, ornate chair. And she continued to smile through the awkward silence as the women stared at her unblinkingly. As if they were prowling felines, tensing before their attack. Lorelle began to sniffle, her small lips turning down and her chin wrinkling as unnerved tears welled up within her.

Odelia's stare was the most frightening. She stared at her with her bug eyes, pointed and lethal, her pinched lips curled into a purse. Her cheeks were flushed with either anger or embarrassment, or a mix of the two. Either way, Bethany felt as if the devil himself was staring her down, his demons surrounding her as if she were to be escorted to eternal damnation.

Bethany's smile twisted and faded away as she averted her eyes. What had she done that was so gravely pejorative? Surely it wasn't because of her sarcastic comment to Odelia? _Well, that's what she gets for what she said, _she thought with a mental snort of indifference. _And this is what you get._

"Tea, anyone?" she abruptly asked, her gaze shooting back up and her smile returning. The women exchanged incredulous looks, but said nothing. Bethany felt her smile wane as her hand rested limply on the handle of the teapot.

"Tea sounds splendid."

The words were masculine, although they did not contain the same roughness as Bethany's father's, nor the seducing suavity of the other men. Instead, this voice held a whiny twang to it, like a child just getting over a seasonal cold. Bethany scrunched up her face and looked over at the doorway parallel to the kitchen door, where a figure stood in the shadows. Her brows furrowed slightly and her lips pressed together, forming a prone crescent moon shape. Men didn't usually attend tea parties, she thought with both grim humor and perplexity.

One of the buxom women, this one donned in an elaborate ebony dress, slammed her teacup down and brought her hands to her face. "Oh, Percy, my darling boy! Come here and give your dear old mother a kiss!" Her extended her arms, chuckling lightly in bliss.

Bethany leaned back in her chair, an incredulous expression conquering her features. She didn't truly believe that the man lingering the shadows of the doorway would really submit to his mother's wishes, seeing that manly pride did not allow such indecency between a son and his mother. This public display of affection would bait him for ridicule from the other men, Bethany figured. At least, that was what she had concluded from Andrew's behavior during his courting years. Never exhibiting passion between those of his own flesh and blood, but any other human that was female received his undivided and tender attention.

But Bethany found her spine snapping back into a vertical position as her notions were proved false. This man apparently didn't finding it bothersome to openly demonstrate love for his mother, as he quickly rushed in with nasally acclamations directed at his mother. He embraced her as hearty as his lean frame could allow, pecking her colored cheeks with his lips. Bethany hid her surprised expression under a blank stare, concluding he was the scrawniest excuse of a male she had ever laid eyes on. With slight amusement, she mused that he highly resembled a malnourished frog.

After his theatrical entrance, Percy straightened and gave warm greetings to the other ladies around the table, Bethany being the last he set his eyes on. He stared at her with a perplexing expression, as if baffled and captivated at the same time. Odelia noticed this look and opened her mouth to speak.

"That is my daughter, Bethany," she said, startling her "daughter" by her pleasant introduction. "Well, by marriage of course. She's Neil's oldest girl, practical and, a ah…" her gaze drifted to the tea pot on top of the waning basket, "…a hard worker. She's unmarried, don't you know." The other women exchanged devious looks, while both Bethany and Percy watched with puzzled faces. When their eyes met each other, Bethany quickly looked away. She didn't want him to possibly detect her skepticism concerning his abnormality. But even still, she could sense a thick odor of arrogance radiating from him, and it made her uneasy.

"She's a farm girl?" Percy asked.

Odelia seemed suddenly flustered. "Ah…ah, _was_, darling. _Was _a farm girl"

Olivia, Odelia's older sister who always seemed to have sour look on her face, spoke up. "It's hardened her. Made her a good worker, like my sister said. Any man would be lucky to hold her hand." Her bitter look transformed into sour conceit, and she leaned back in her chair, elevating her chin.

Bethany felt a dubious expression easing onto her face as she looked away from Olivia and back to Percy, who seemed as if he might understand what was going on, yet seemed almost disappointed about it. He caught her gaze, various emotions flashing in his eyes. He looked down at Lorelle, who curled away from his stare and nestled herself against her cousin. Bethany wrapped another arm around her, rocking her back and forth until the tension waned.

"Why don't you take my seat, Mr. Roener? I'll get everything cleaned up and I'll leave you ladies to your tea," she said, then gasped, clamping her mouth closed at what she had said. "I-I mean, I'll leave you all to your tea. Ladies _and _gentlemen." She fumbled as she stood, scuttling around the table to allow Percy to have the chair. He wiped the empty cup she was using with a pasty-colored kerchief, his initials embroidered on it. His face seemed to hold slight disgust, but Bethany didn't know why.

She poured fresh tea for all of those who wished for more, coming to Percy last. He didn't bend to the side like the others as she awkwardly wedged herself between him and the other woman next to him, leaning over his shoulder. She felt him scrutinize her body, with it being at such close range. She couldn't tell if he was repelled by her discourtesy, or if he enjoyed it. Either way, it made her insides churn uncomfortably and she could feel her hand tremble as she filled his cup with tea.

"So, Percy, are you content with your new spot in the company?" one of the women asked over the edge of her teacup.

Percy held up his hand for Bethany to stop, although it took a moment or two for her to realize it. As she fumbled with the pot, he replied through his biscuit, "Yes, it is an honor to be one of the heads of the corporation. In fact, I've already got my eye on a nice square of land that would be ideal for our next project, although Mr. Reynolds and I are already occupied with another assignment—"

At the mention of Don, the plate of biscuit crumbs that Bethany was retrieving from the center of the table slipped from her grasp and descended into Percy's cup of tea. The ladies around the table gasped in embellished alarm, and Odelia wasted no time chastising the young woman.

Percy waved a hand at her after Odelia was done. "Yes, go and take this into the kitchen; clean it up. And look for another linen cover too, it looks like Auntie Odelia has spilled some of her tea on this one."

The crimson hue of embarrassed rage trickled into Bethany's cheeks, and the quaking of her hands was no longer from unease. Now she felt as if had been dubbed a servant, and she loathed that. She was now just as good as they were, connected by marriage. Shards of cruel thoughts and angry excuses pierced her mind, but she didn't let any escape her lips. She had a strong feeling that she ought to make a good impression on these people, although she told herself it was too late. She was that imprudent farm girl who was "a ah…a hard worker".

Despite Odelia's request to keep "her child" in the tea room, Bethany scooped her up anyway, holding her on one hip and balancing the tea accessories in the other hand. She strode head-high out of the room, her gate almost a swagger.

And this time, she closed the door.

* * *

Celia stared at the flickering patterns of light the soft sun played upon the ceiling of her room. It was a small room, just big enough for her and Bethany to be comfortable in. It held a homey feeling, like an embellished room of her home. Light curtains billowed as gentle winds blew life into them, making the chandelier's dangling crystals chime dimly. The sunlight brought the paintings on the wall to life, and accentuated the beautiful ivory desk that sat next to the bed Celia lounged on. 

Her misty eyes were glazed over, staring into a realm that only she could see. A faint, dreamy smile highlighted her lips, her fingers intertwined and resting on her stomach. She had changed into a loose white nightgown, which spread about her like wisps of far-off clouds.

Within the numbness of her mind, she relived her younger years of youth, when she looked forward to each day solely because each day usually incorporated young Don Reynolds. He was a year older than her, although as schoolchildren they often competed with each other, despite the grade and age difference. Don could calculate with speed that made Celia's head hurt, but she struck back with her flowery writing and flawless calligraphy. And over time, their strict rivalry blossomed into a youthful adoration. Some said they saw it coming, and spoke of the future that was bound to unfold. Their childish passion would evolve into a long and everlasting devotion, and their story would end with the perfect fairy-tale conclusion.

Of course, it hadn't worked out that way. But Celia's heart felt too light with...could it be resurrected love?...to dwell on the faults of the past. Instead, the dancing patterns on the ceiling took form into a peaceful landscape, where Celia watched the fairytale of her courting years unfold. The burning within her heart that she once held developed into a florid delight, and butterflies birthed within her, willing her to find her enchanted prince, although she was too caught up in her daydreams to care on seeking him out again. Don, the enchanted prince, which, by chance, had came riding in at the perfect time.


	5. Sealed with a Kiss

A/N: Thank you everyone for the great reviews--no matter how big or small. I hope you are as pleased with this chapter, and hopefully it isn't too long, now. ;)

* * *

**Blessings in Disguise**

_Chapter 5_

Celia stared blankly back at herself, standing as regally as she could in the polished evenness of the reflecting mirror. Her luminous chocolate hair hung heavily on her head, pushed back over her shoulders so she could have a clear view of the outfit she wore. She didn't know quite what to make of it, despite the gentle discontent that the dress was a half-decade out of date. The bloated sleeves—which seemed all the more inflamed now that she saw herself wearing it again—embraced her shoulders with suffocating strength in her weak attempt to keep them from sliding down, as the ruffled top was. The length of the attached skirt came more than a little above her ankles, and her abnormally large feet—she blamed it on her father—flashed brazenly in the mirror. She sighed. And it had been such a pretty dress, too—made of silk and patterned with sepia-tinted, summertime-blooming flowers. It had been her favorite Sunday dress, and she had worn it many a time to impress a certain prince of hers.

Her empty look quickly transformed into a clouded look of romanticism, her eyes staring beyond herself. She recalled those indolent summer afternoons, when the two star-crossed lovers would curl up at the base of a great pine, nestled in a bed of daisies and wild blossoms. Dandelion seedlings would detach themselves from their nest and twirl fluidly into loose spirals, wafting up to the two youths dreamily enjoying the other's company under the sun-patterned shade of the tree.

But her daydreams were sliced brutally short as the heavy sigh from the door resounded throughout the otherwise silent bedroom. There was a soft click as the door was nudged back into place, followed by a sudden and startling shriek coming from the visitor, whose back collided forcefully with the door, rattling the walls.

Celia jumped as well, by natural human instinct. She stumbled backwards, catching herself in an awkward position at the foot of her bed. It didn't take her long to realize what a terrible indecent position she posed in, enhanced by her shrunken gown, and sacrificed one supporting hand to press down the tauten middle of her skirt, staring almost unseeingly through her abruptly mussed locks.

"Bethany?" she breathed in a nearly relieved voice. She tilted her head up to get a better view through her curtain of hair.

Bethany brought a hand to her chest, let out a sigh that displayed her dying fright. She breathed through pursed lips, and pushed herself off the wall. "Heavens, Celia, you scared me something fierce. I haven't seen you in that dress in the longest time, and now I see why…" she trailed off, letting her eyes scan her sister's outfit up and down. She frowned and gave a gentle clicking noise. "You can't wear that to the wedding."

Celia relaxed and thrust herself into a proper position, giving her sister a blank stare akin to the one she had been giving herself earlier. It was meant to be a silent sarcastic thanks her for voicing the obvious, but Bethany seemed to perceive it as mild disbelief. She shrugged and turned her gaze to the closet, almost anticipating, anxious. With a hint of reluctant fretfulness, she pressed forward and approached the white doors, her fingers curling around the golden handle. She gave a glance back at Celia, as if for permission, but found the girl to be staring with apparent sadness into the long mirror. Frowning only slightly, she turned back around, took a deep breath, and wrenched open the doors.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip, a frivolous squeal mounting up within her. Her eyes swallowed the sight before her as if she had never experienced the bright luminosity of color. Her hands slowly climbed to the sides of her face, rubbing her cheeks into an even pinker hue. Bethany's mind pounded with gratitude to her stepmother, silently thanking her over and over for her generosity. What hung from an iron hook before her was much too beautiful for a girl such as herself, although she could hardly contain her imagination from fanaticizing over it.

A small gasp resounded just behind her, and she turned abruptly to find Celia staring wide-eyed into the closet. "Land sakes," she breathed, and slid past her sister, reaching out her hand. Her fingers brushed the sleeve of the marvelous gown residing within, quickly withdrawing it as if the slight touch had done her harm. "That's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen."

"And it's for Bethany."

Both Celia and Bethany whirled around, startled at the new voice and the silent entrance of the visitor. Celia felt her face flame up, and she backed behind her sister's nightdress. With this other person now joining them in the confines of their room, Celia suddenly felt overwhelmingly inferior and exposed in her gown. But the older woman before them didn't let her gaze linger on the younger sibling too long, and instead turned to Bethany, who was standing almost defensively between she and her sister.

"Excuse me?" she asked, openly appalled. "What right to you have to intrude on us at this ungodly hour?" She recognized this woman as the garish mother of Percy; the very last person she wished to argue with at that moment of time. It was just like Odelia's relatives to interrupt the highlights of the Berkley's days.

"I have every right, my…dear," she said the words hesitantly, as if being forced to, her face contorted into a weak grimace. Bethany frowned.

"I've come to ready you for the wedding ceremony, Beth. As my—"

"I can ready myself," Bethany spat, keeping her eyes on the older woman even as she felt Celia push off of her and run behind her makeshift changing curtains. And neither did the other woman shift her gaze. "And you will call me by _Miss Berkley_."

"But you _will _come with me," she said after an uncomfortable silence, unable to come up with an adequately sharp retort. She sliced the words from Bethany's mouth as she lurched into motion, blowing past her and snatching the exquisite pink silk dress from the closet. It had short, ruched sleeves trimmed elegantly with bands of velvet ribbon and laced with frilly white silk. The V-shape neckline cut low on her, meeting at a frilly bow that held the also ruched embroiders of the neckline in place. The wide collar revealed the underneath bodice of gauze lace that crawled across her chest and halfway up her neck. A darker pink was tied around the middle of the dress, initiating the start of a slightly billowed skirt that continued to the ground. It was Bethany's idea of a princess's dress, but now it had been somewhat tainted as Odelia's relative handled it in her lean fingers.

Her eyes traveled back up to Percy's mother, who was gazing down at the dress with an expression that bordered on a grimace of disappointment. She pulled her head back into a stiff position, sliding her hands to her hips. "And what makes you think that I will oblige?" she snapped. "I don't need assistance on what I am capable of doing myself. And my sisters—"

"You don't have a choice, _Missus Berkley_. You _will_ come with me. Have that other girl take care of whatever else you think is so important," the woman said, flaunting a hand nonchalantly in Celia's direction. Celia peered around the translucent curtain separating her from them, her eyes growing all the rounder as she watched her sister and the beautiful pink dress be dragged away by the brash stranger who she could only assume was a relative of her stepmother's.

"_Missus_?" Bethany cried in utter bewilderment, the last words Celia heard before their bedroom door was thrust back into its frame with a cringing thud.

Eyebrows drawn down in an angle, Celia stepped out, her otherwise bare body wrapped in a warm, earthy hued quilt she had packed from home. It swallowed her whole, like a cocoon too large for the butterfly within it, but its gentle, cloud-like material petted down her hackled nerves, her mind's churning slowly dying into a rhythmic musing. She sat absentmindedly on the edge of her bed, the quilt draping over her like a queen's coronation robes. But at the moment, she didn't feel very much like a queen. No, in fact, she felt very much a prisoner, like that little storybook character that her mother had such a keen passion for. Cinderella, was it? The princess who didn't know she was a princess, oppressed by those who were supposed to protect her from such worldly evils.

She sighed; there was no use in debating herself. Securing the wrap about her collar, she eased up from her position, wandering leisurely to the closet where Bethany had found her marvelous prize. Consciously she hoped that maybe, just maybe, she could find something of wondrous splendor awaiting her too, something that would make her look simply astounding. Something pretty and pink, studded with sequins and diamonds. And sapphires, of course, to help bring out her slate-colored irises so she could impress—

"Oh, Lord."

The words were carried on the surf of a pleasantly startled gasp, gushing out of her like a river freed from the hindering barrier of a dam. She couldn't move, her fingers hardened in their places, the thick downiness of the quilt sliding through easily into a cascading heap circling her feet like newly fallen snow. The bare breeze from the open window did not awaken her from her petrified state of wonder, staring in utter disbelief at the outfit of marvel. It certainly wasn't as grand as Bethany's, but its unpretentiously classy design that she knew would fit her so well was enough to cast her into a realm of absolute wonder. Her hands itched to touch it, but she felt an odd sensation that if she did, she would tarnish its beauty in some way.

It was the lightest shade of pink, like pale cherry blossoms, highlighted by the white laces that decorated the sleeves and hems of it in elegant charm. Careful embroideries trimmed the gown, snaking around the edges of the layered fabrics. A small, dark pink bow made of a softer silk than the rest was tied snugly at the neck, the center wrapped in pearls. If it had not been for Don, it was at this moment Celia would have converted to the belief of love at first sight.

A brisk summer breeze cut through the room and embraced Celia's form, tickling her with abnormal chill. The shivering that spiraled up from her heels seemed to awaken her from her state of awe, and she quickly made a dive for the quilt, before stopping halfway. She shot a wily look up from under her eyelashes at the gleaming china silk of the dress dancing in the breeze, and felt a childish sensation of secretive deviance.

And suddenly, she felt like a queen again.

* * *

The flamboyant landscape that boasted of summer's peak, the most pictorial and uplifting time of the year, glared brazenly through the mottled arches of Henolpen's local cathedral, where all were sitting in polite silence. Renaissance arches swept in graceful bows, defining the picturesque architecture and intricate engravings that honored the heavens and its Master. Stained glass, like a rainbow melted into the hands of man, were carved notable biblical scenes, the people just like the next in a monotonous pattern. The great, arching frame of the church rattled with the echoes of the cherry-cheeked priest, smiling through his repetitive and clichéd lines, as if it were blissfully idyllic that he would be the one to bring together two luckless lovers in all their ostentation.

Celia fidgeted, fiddling with the brim of her hat and her chocolate hair piled beneath in a collect heap that brushed against the nape of her neck. She and her siblings sat in the first row on the right of the church, seated according to age, save Lorelle, who gurgled in a mesh of emotions on Bethany's lap. The girls were correspondingly dressed—almost obviously planned by dictating Odelia, to which perfection was the core of her ambition—in shades of pink and nearly matching in their hats. The boys were dressed plainer, in suits and hats depending on their ages. Celia, although pleased beyond belief at her splendorous gown, couldn't help but feel like a marionette, or doll, that Odelia felt the need to display and dominate.

Her eyes absently traveled over to Don, as she had found herself doing through the course of the ceremony. He sat across the aisle, a pew back, behind Percy Roemer, the son of Odelia's brother. Ever since the man had passed on, Percy had taken over his position in the company, one of some sort of construction, so she had heard. She still didn't understand what ties Don had with the Roemers, but she was incapable of dwelling on the void, for at the thoughts of her childhood love, her eyes would travel back to his profile, handsome in his boater hat and casual suit, something that Celia knew he had adopted from his informal years at Piney Grove. Don had never fancied elegance, finding comfort holding more importance than his physical appearance. She liked that about him. But then again, she seemed to like everything about him.

"_I, Neil Berkley,  
Take you, Odelia Roemer,  
To be my lawfully wedded wife;  
To have and to hold,  
From this day forward,  
For better, for worse,  
For richer, for poorer,  
In sickness and in health,  
To love and to cherish,  
'Till death do us part_."

Celia's eyes snapped away from Don and to her father, who was gazing into Odelia's eyes with a foreign passion Celia never remembered seeing in him before. She drew a shaky breath through parted lips, her fingers fiddling with her dress, and she cast her own eyes down, as if not having to watch would erase the moment from time itself. Odelia repeated the poem of commitment, her nasally voice like discordantly sang words washing through the cathedral. Bethany cringed, and Celia could feel her shoulder stiffen—as if the realization that there was no going back was too repulsive and appalling for her nerves to tolerate.

The priest continued as the script willed him to do, his voice, like the gray downpour of winter rain, refilling the room and lulling Lorelle into an atypically quiet sleep. Celia gazed at the child with a feeling of envy, wishing that she could follow suit. The matrimonial ceremony was straining her heart, pulling at the rusty chords of the past; memories that played through her mind in an angelic, idyllic glow. She missed those times, when all was right and comfortable. Never did she associate what her mother said were "growing pains" with a mental state.

Celia felt her sister, December, shift beside her, the beads on her dress tinkling ever so slightly. December was another pretty Berkley girl, often placed somewhere between her older sister's, although her beauty came from the sharp features of her father, not her mother. Her hair rode in soft swells, and her eyes held more depth than Celia's or Bethany's. But her face was always porcelain pale, contrasting starkly with the rest of her make up. She got her completion from her mother, as well as her sparrow-boned frame.

Celia turned her eyes to her, trying to stay discreet. December was staring past her down the aisle, no doubt at the young men seated there. The girl was only a few months from womanhood, of sixteen, when she could be properly courted. Of course, she never let her age come between her and her desires, her father's stubborn, defiant streak tainting her blood. Even at the age of thirteen, she had taken flight with many a boy in tow, and earned quite a few defaming epithets from a few of the matrons of Piney Grove. But being experienced in the field of cunning, although it didn't take much to deceive the placid residents of the town, she often kept her flights hidden from anyone's knowledge.

But what was the most hard to discern about December was her true personality. She was a sweet child, really, more like her eldest sister than Celia, but that streak of underlying perseverance meshed and contorted her mind. She was the most brazen of the family, but only when it came to men. December loved men, and she often went to extremes that young women of Piney Grove did not often go to in order to gain a man's attentions. It was audacious and reckless of her, that small mental quirk, but her dominant sisterly qualities managed to keep her from being disowned from her radical father.

December's hazel eyes were narrowed, her mouth twisted in the way they did when she was examining something that pleased her. Her head was bowed in portentous pleasure, her fingernails tapping absently on her lap. Her teeth crawled to her lower lip, embracing them from the inside, her expression putting Celia on an awkward edge. December was up to something—after something, rather—again, and Celia unconsciously hoped it wasn't Don.

"Ember," she hissed, but the pet name did not faze the girl. "December!"

The girl's fine eyes snapped to her, her gaze both testy and uneasy. She clenched her teeth, and replied back with just as much urgency in her hoarse whisper, "What?"

"Keep you're head on your shoulders. Don't do anything that would disturb Odelia," Celia said, trying to match her sister's tart glare. There was enough turmoil in their lives at the moment to keep them on edge, and Celia mused that if December attempted to walk the fine tightrope that she knew she would, it would only add another poison into the cauldron.

"That's 'Mother', now," December responded, her mouth quirking into an impish angle. Her sister didn't understand how truly two-faced the younger was—whether it was deliberately or instinctively.

December motioned with her head to the altar, where the pleasantly plump priest beamed in such unnecessary ecstasy over his elaborate. His cheeks balled up into rosy fists, his ivory teeth flaunting themselves. "Now it is by divine Providence that thy Woman and thy Man are wed in such blessed holy matrimony, and it is in His blessed name that I empower thou to kiss thy's bride."

Celia watched in curious horror as her father bent down to swoop his new wife into a display of his love, but suddenly hesitated, as if he had just remembered something that he had so long ago forgot. It flickered in his eyes only for a moment, and it was for that moment that all time stopped, and Celia's heart raced in such anticipatory exhilaration. But as soon as that wavering barrier appeared, it was shattered as both the Berkley's and Roemer's fate was sealed with a kiss.

* * *

Celia stood with her back against the cathedral façade, her eyes wiping over the rolling green hills and the luscious bay beyond. It was such a beautiful day, the cloudless skies letting the vibrant rays of the star gloss the landscape, its shine like nature's polished gleam. The sapphire sea winked at her, sparkling like a blanket of a thousand sequins. Birds, lulled by this picturesque scene, sang delicate phrases to another, twittering as they fluttered in dovelike elegance from perch to perch. They seemed to call to Celia, but she didn't hear them. She simply stared out to the horizon, her thoughts interweaving with each other within the mangled realms of her mind.

It was such a charismatic day, one where she could simply bask in its perfection, for such an ugly event. Yes, the ceremony had been unblemished as far as anyone could see, but if you delved deeper, the enchanting charm of it tripped and tangled into an ominous knot—small at the time, but the more it was neglected, the larger it would grow. Neglect was a healthy poison to any soul, souring it, but also molding it into something grotesque and abnormal. And Celia feared for the familiar simplicity of what she once knew—or was it only what she saw?

She sighed and shifted her skirts about her feet. She couldn't waste bitter thoughts on such a sweet afternoon. She _wouldn't_ waste them.

Her eyes slid to December, whose frosty dress swelled in a breeze creeping up from the shore. She stood with her weight bore down on one leg, her head cocked in her own typical comeliness. Despite her older sister's remarks, she had gone ahead with her desires, seeking out a peculiarly handsome young man quite a few years her senior. His golden locks furled up around the edges astrally, shuffling charmingly when he moved. He seemed to find a liking in the Berkley girl, that December, as Celia could tell by the fantastical smile on his lips, and his gentle laughter as her sister carried on in that amiable way of hers. Sometimes Celia couldn't help the trickles of jealously from pervading her heart.

"Miss Berkley!" a voice called, homely like slowly seeping chocolate. Its familiarity sent abruptly chilly shivers up Celia's spine.

_No, don't turn around—he's not talking to you. He means…December. Yes, December. She seems much more approachable than I do. _She felt a little tickle on the nape of her neck, like hackles rising limply.

Suddenly there was a heavy presence on her shoulder, its warm touch chilling her blood, a clammy sensation replacing her skin. Her heart jumped and lunged at the walls of her chest, like the rapid urgency of war drums before the dawn of a battle. She felt like some poor, helpless chicken cornered in an ambush. She needed to get away.

But curiosity won her over. Slowly, she pivoted her body only slightly, her skirts sighing, and found her face only inches away from...Don's. His genial, affectionate, welcoming smile and liquefying muddy brown eyes. She felt strangely inferior and foul.

His grin wavered for a moment as his lips quirked, words forming on his tongue. "Don Reynolds!"

And then it was gone, a startled and unsatisfied line where his smile once was. He whirled around, his hand sliding off Celia's shoulder, freeing her to turn away, her pent-up breath gushing from her lungs and disintegrating into the air, which cooled her steaming skin. Her stomach churned like a storming sea, her heart pulsating at a dangerously high rate. She let her palms massage her face, trying to return to her pacified state, where admired princes stayed at a comfortable distance—if there were such a thing—and her body did not react so dramatically to the anxieties of infatuation.

"Why, this is Miss Berkley, the groom's daughter. We were dear friends as youngsters, don't you know, Mr. Roemer," Don was saying. Her turned to Celia's back, his fingers finding her arm again and tugging her gently towards him. She reacted like a jittery mare without blinkers, sidestepping with her eyes wide and form stiff with reluctance. Don smiled softly at her, hoping to brush down her frazzled nerves. Her chest heaved with deep breaths as her childhood lover drew her closer, his hand slithering down her arm and entwining his fingers into hers. He brought their clasped hands to his lips, pecking her fingers and sending feathery tickles up her limbs. That gaze, that tender, heartfelt gaze that she remembered so well when he had asked for her hand.

"My dear lady, this is Mr. Percy Roemer, your ste—" he halted his words shortly as a sharp shard of resentment glimmered in Celia's eye. "Mr. Percy Roemer, the bride's nephew." His grin spread. "I work for him now, Celia. He is hand-in-hand with many construction corporations, who are set on industrializing conservative towns like the Grove."

Celia's stare into his eyes was momentarily one of resurrected hurt and repulsion. _How could he? Doesn't he know…?_

She turned to Percy, a slender smile easing onto her face, hiding her dubious thoughts about the man before him. Percy Roemer—she thought he looked like the classic relative of Odelia's. A laugh choked her, and averted her gaze briefly, her free hand's fingers closing over her curved lips. Don stared in incredulous humor at her, and she could sense chuckles wedging into his throat, as well.

"It's an honor to meet one who has such an influence on…whatever is to come. Or, who seems to have such an influence," she said, her eyes hardening into an impenetrable fog, and Percy's smile waned.

"Well," he began in a haughty tone, "it isn't a position I will abuse, I assure you that, Miss Berkley."

"I guess all it depends on how you define abuse," Celia replied, her smile weakening in her attempt to keep it alive.

Percy glanced at Don, a wary look warping his face, but he found his cohort gazing down into the girl's eyes with troubled concern, and he saw that passion that the man held for her. He only wished that the same kind of devotion would come to him, when…

"You're the sister of—what was her name?—Betsy, are you not?" Percy asked, desperately trying to divert such negative tones from his aunt's day, where everything must be ideal—just right. The bitterness in the girl's tone would certain provoke Odelia, if it persisted. "What do you imagine she makes of me?"

Celia's eyes swept over to the doors, where the bride and groom were greeting and bidding farewells to their guests, reminding them to return to their home to attend the reception ball. She caught sight of Bethany, standing with forlorn distress radiating from beneath her polite smile. She knew very well what Bethany thought of Percy, and was tempted to bestow him with such opinions. But she sighed mentally—she would not betray her sister's trust at a time like this, or ever.

She turned back to the awaiting Percy, smiling with faux sweetness. "Perhaps you should ask the groom; his family's needs always head his priorities, don't you know." There was an awkward, wordless pause, before Celia spoke again, thrusting the men into further uncomfortable incomprehension. Readying her parasol, her lips curved into another smile as she bid them farewell. "Good day, gentlemen."

Don began to inquiry her sardonic tongue, but her hand crept from his own before any action could have been taken, her back quickly facing him and her rosy dress swelling quietly as she swept away to the awaiting coach. His heart wilted as he watched her slip away from him again, still without any disclosure regarding the mysterious black plague that harassed her mind.


	6. Wishes

_A/N: _I'm SO sorry for the lack of updates, it just seems that everything has been very stressful lately. But I decided I'd upload this in the New Year (2007, baby!) in honor of starting afresh and anew and all that good stuff. If that makes any sense at all.

And, as always, THANK YOU reviewers--you all really make my day. .::hugs::.

**

* * *

Blessings in Disguise**

_Chapter 6_

"Oh, Bethany, it's so beautiful!" Celia cried, her hands cradling her face in open awe. She ran her gaze over her sister's ball gown again and again, trying to take in its metallic magnificence, ice blue silk embellished with a scrolling floral design. Intricately woven lace gave a youthful frill on her sleeves and waist, and the fabric sat snuggly enough about her corset to flaunt a seemingly flawless figure. Indeed, the young woman had refused most vehemently over letting the constricting garment embrace her, but Odelia's sister-in-law simply insisted on it. And yet, Celia liked it. She liked having a stylish older sister who had something to boast about, something to be proud of, even if it was jealousy provoking. But she was happy for her, happy that Bethany Berkley rested on the throne of natural attraction. Even if she didn't display it she did now, so brazenly striking.

Celia cast a look at herself within the long mirror, her slightly plump figure blinding her momentarily, as if she had abruptly switched from the radiant beauty of the sun to the stark homely state of a lackluster landscape. A frown pursed her lips, a sudden, white-hot shard of anger directed at her lack of appeal branding her mind. Even with her exquisite pale aquamarine satin dress, patterned with light jade blooms festooning it. Even with the low, rounded neckline, flattering the little figure she had gained over her adolescent years. She fiddled with the tan laces garnishing the gown, biting her lip in order to withhold her hostile look until Bethany had gone. She knew the elder girl would reprimand her in the concealed form of sisterly empathy. And although her words would be meant to be a soothing lotion, the more she used that form of chide, it grew coarser and coarser, as if the lotion was spoiled with bits of gravel that grated the fragile lining of her heart.

"Celia?" Bethany asked, leaning forward. "What's the matter? I know that face—you're displeased. Is it your dress?"

Celia shook her head, averting her gaze from the mirror to the floor. She caught wisps of her gown in the rims of her eyes, its marvelous sophistication momentarily mesmerizing her. "No, Bethany, it's not my dress," she assured. A soft chuckle tumbled from her lips. "No, it is wonderful—the most beautiful garment I have ever the honor of wearing. It's…there are no words to describe it." She glanced down at it, and saw that her words were true—there truly were no words to describe how marvelous the gown was.

Perhaps it was because her tone lacked that girlish embroidery of instinctive optimism, or the flat sound of her chortle that made Bethany frown beneath the elegant design of her hair. She stepped forward absently, leaning down some to catch a glimpse of her sister's bowed face. Her heart urged to lighten the girl, uplift her in the elation of the night's events. There was too much to look forward to—the ball, namely—for the young woman's face to droop downwards so, like a beaten servant.

Bethany's finger found the bottom of Celia's chin, tilting it upward until the girl was looking at her with those vast gray eyes. "You look breathtaking, my sister. Don't submit to the lies of the mirror," she said softly, in a motherly way, smiling slightly. She brushed her fingers against Celia's adorned hair, upheld in a tasteful chignon.

Celia averted her eyes, a quiet smile on her lips. "Thank you, Bethany," she whispered, her eyes returning to her sister's gaze. "Thank you for everything."

There were tears in those eyes. Little, twinkling droplets of gratified sorrow refusing to fall. Reflecting their source's stamina and confidence like shimmering stars of bright faith piercing the darkness of the night sky.

"You're welcome, Celia," Bethany whispered back, her voice wavering. "I know I can't be your mother, but at least I can be your sister."

There were tears in those eyes, too.

* * *

The back lawn was a grand sight; a more sophisticated spectacle Celia had never witnessed. The courtyard was lined with glimmering streams of candles, casting a romantic gleam over the vegetation. Rose petals were shed all about, strewn in haphazardly along the paths. Fine cloth draped the sporadic benches, and candles illuminated ponds flaunting vivid fish and flowers. Likewise, candles also illuminated the tables, enswathed in soft white fabric, resting outside the dance floor. Lanterns dangled there, as well as on the intimidating house, casting a shadow over the celebration. But the darkness was kept at bay by the ivory luminance radiating from the round disk of a moon observing from the sky like a lantern itself, hundreds of silver droplets scattered about it like candles. It was as if the sky was reflecting the jubilant events of the party below. 

Celia stood at the edge of the dance floor, a slight, content smile on her lips as she watched the couples move about in elegant circles. She thought she spotted Bethany somewhere in the middle, dancing with a cheery grin with various partners. The younger girl mused that Bethany must be having the time of her life; the last time she could bask in the adoration of men was years ago at a local barn dance. That was before the death of their mother.

She sighed and shook the memories from her mind, unwilling to bestow upon herself the pain of separation. She wanted the following morning to be easy and emotionless. No broken hearts; no broken hope.

Her eyes followed the dancing crowd, her eyes grazing over December, glancing haughtily over her shoulder at the blond-haired man she was helplessly pursuing earlier that day. Now she clung to the elbow of another man, his facial features similar to the others—so similar, in fact, that Celia wagered they were related in some way. But she had to admit that December's new beau—his face round and sweet, framed with muddled brown locks—was fairly charming, and seemed as if he and the girl would make an interesting pair. Curiosity plagued her mind, and Celia felt devious enough to approach the dejected blond only a few feet away.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice exclaimed, followed by warm fingers curling around Celia's wrist. A sudden, clammy sensation broke out throughout her, dampening her skin and making her jump. She whirled about, her dress tossing prettily, her eyes wide. Wisps of hair fluttered at the side of her face.

"Celia?"

"Don?"

Both tones were equal, corresponding with utter startle and a sprinkle of stupefaction. They stared intently at each other, gazing half-unseeing into the eyes of the other. Celia gazed at the man, and her heart lurched with the sudden recognition that Don had changed so much since their last youthful rendezvous. His face was finer now, bringing out his eyes and defining his nose. His hair, wavy and thick grew long, as if he still were a country fellow who didn't bother to trim their locks into more urbane styles. Celia found this almost amusing, and her lips quirked with something that could be mistaken for a smile.

"Celia," Don finally said, his hands sliding over hers, which were grasping the fabric of her dress. They were shaky, moist, and he engulfed them in his fists. "You look beautiful tonight, Celia. Like a true princess. I-I didn't recognize you." The stutter in his words made Celia blush with girlish delight.

Somewhere, deep down inside her, she found enough courage and confidence to speak more than monosyllables to him. She gazed up at him from under her lashes, the slightest of smiles shadowing her lips. "And you a true prince."

His beam widened along with hers. There was a moment of passionate silence as they gazed into each other's eyes, undefined thoughts passing between them. Don wondered at her, a wave of disbelief washing over him and clearing his sight. Never had he thought that the girl could look any more beautiful, anything other than the perfection she bore now. He let his hand move up to her jaw, where he stroked her cheek with his thumb, allowing her to lean into the caresses. "I've missed you, Celia Berkley," he said softly, in a hoarse voice. "All this time, I never forgot that promise you made. I always hoped you'd still be waiting for me when I returned." The words were nearly inaudible, spoken slowly and in a sleepy tone. In captivation.

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep my word," Celia murmured, looking up solemnly. "But I have waited for you, Don. I've waited for two long years."

"That lightens my heart, Celia," he said poetically, smiling. "But what I've missed!"

Don laughed humorously as he gestured widely to the extravaganza, but Celia's face stiffened. "You've missed much. So much." Her gaze drifted out to the crowd on the dance floor, staring blankly into the mesh of colors and laughter. Her heart writhed with emotional agony. _You have missed so much, my love. _

"Perhaps," the young man said, shattering Celia's concentration, "we can discuss it over a dance?" He smiled down at her, and she found herself unable to resist. She felt herself teetering on the edge of those deep eyes, so profound and welcoming. They embraced her mind in a gentle comfort, something she had not had the luxury of for such a long time. She wanted to submerge herself in them, into their former romance. She wanted to relieve the youthful passion that had kept her going on through her mother's death and the deterioration of her family. She wanted to find comfort in his arms, in his embrace.

"Yes, Don," she said with a smile, "I will dance with you."

* * *

Laughter pealed from Bethany's lips, her white teeth flashing as she grinned in hilarity. She held her constrained mid as she was twirled around a corner, her stomach expanding and quickly contracting from the sudden pinch of her corset. Her partner laughed along, not at all concerned with her brief, biting pain that was birthed from her happiness. If Bethany didn't know any better, she would have assumed the man found her rather amusing. And indeed she was, trying not to keel over and dance at the same time; small, unladylike snort thrusting her further into her mirth and tugging the man dancing with her along. It was during these spans of sparkling merriment that Bethany forgot completely the troubles of her world and those within it. 

The music faded away softly, like the vibrant colors of summer as the seasons shifted into the seasonal abyss that heralded autumn. Bethany drew a breath shaky with bliss as she and her partner slowed and stopped, laughing in short bursts at the other. The woman wiped at her eyes, tossing away her tears. Her partner helped her, his rough thumb combing away the little wetness that gave her lower lid a sticky feel. "Thank you," she said, her voice rough with the grinding components of exercise and joviality. She brought a hand to her breast, as if it would pet down her uneven breaths.

"Bethany!" a voice cried out through the muffling crowd. "Oh, Bethany, Bethany!"

Bethany and her partner whirled about in the direction of the speaker, and the man at her side drew a shark intake of breath. For there, as politely as she could, weaved December through the men and women preparing for the next dance. One hand was thrust out before her, her skirts clutched there, and the other extended behind her, pulling something along like a reluctant puppy. She seemed quite pleased with herself.

"December?" Bethany replied, sliding out of her partner's shadow. She hurried over to December, who met her halfway, and embraced her hand with her own. "What is it, December?"

December smiled and regained her composure, but only for a moment. With a look that foretold her mischievousness, she slid her fingers from Bethany's and spoke. "He is not an _it_, Beth darling." she said, and grinned wider. With a jerk of her arm, a shadow lurched from behind, and suddenly, unexpectedly, a young man stumbled to the girl's side. "And his name is _Jack_!"

Bethany turned her eyes to Jack as her sister slid her arm around his. The man was handsome, quite, with his curly brown locks and warm eyes. He bore himself civilly, with a casual air, and composed a sweet smile that made Bethany's skin tingle. She felt his eyes scan her, and an open sensation spread over her, and she then realized that that must be the very feeling that December so sought. The man was perfect for her, she mused.

"Jack," the girl began abruptly, "this is my darling sister _Beth_. She's the mama of our family, ever since our real mother passed." Her sweet smile radiated a bitter sourness. "But we have Odelia as mama now, don't we? Oh," she chuckled, "but don't _worry_, sister. You'll have plenty of motherly duties to keep you busy. For a very long time."

Bethany stared hard at her sister, a sharp, perplexed look masked by a stiff expression. She shot Jack a brusque smile before returning to December's gaze. "I'm afraid I do not grasp what you are implying," she said with a rigid smile. "_Enlighten me_, _little sister dearest_."

December's face shuddered with a tart look, which quickly vanished as she caught sight of something behind her older sister. "Why," she began with a saucy beam, "his reply to your question would be much more stimulating, wouldn't you agree?"

Bethany whirled about, her elegant hair tossing about and her dress hissing against the ground. Her eyes rested sharply on a solitary figure neatly treading through the crowd, like Moses through the Red Sea, and she felt her heart well up with muted animosity. She cast a fiery glance over her shoulder at December, who cuddled against Jack's arm, although he seemed to pull away. The girl shot him a fierce look of her own, and tugged at his arm, dragging his attention away from her sister and down to her.

"Bethany," the voice of the approacher said. "You look…nice tonight."

She whirled back around, almost colliding with the man standing before her. She stared at the chest before her for a moment, then let her eyes slide up to his own: murky, muddled. It gave her a stringent feeling, but she found herself unable to look away, as if it would make her a coward.

"Likewise, Mr. Roener," she replied stiffly. And as if after her words the man had simply disappeared, she turned to December. "Now what is all this 'motherly duties' talk about--"

December quickly glided over gently, pulling Percy's arm around Bethany's and severing her words. Bethany began to protest, tried to wedge her arm from Percy's, but December was adamant. With her palms on their backs, she retaliated, "Now you two discuss this o'er a waltz, yes? A beautiful dance if I do say so myself… Would you be my partner, Jack dear? You know, keep an eye on the lovers?" Bethany jerked her head back as she and Percy drew away from the couple, but December only winked at her older sister's glaring stare.

Fighting the urge to make any dissatisfied noises, Bethany composed herself and readied herself for the waltz, feeling greatly uncomfortable in the arms of Percy--so stiff and awkward. She glanced up at him with a small, forced smile, then averted her gaze to December and Jack, her eyes boring into the girl's partner. A handsome man, he was, and Bethany was dismayed to find butterflies wriggling in her heart. She'd thought that they had permanently migrated to somewhere warmer.

As the music began, Bethany found herself unpleasantly thrust into an uncomfortable confinement of Percy's arms. He was taut with akin discomfort, but somehow managed to move with lithe elegance. Bethany struggled to fight her way through the steps, straining to hear the music and strived to keep December's beau out of sight. But he kept appearing, his deep chocolate eyes swallowing her when contact was made. She'd stumble, her front pressing firmly against Percy, his stuttered movements to get away becoming all that could retrieve her from the depths of the other man's eyes. Before long, Bethany's face was not _just_ red from the physical stress of the dance.

Percy sought desperately to distract the woman. Rolling his lips and smacking them with an arrogant air, he waxed his eyes and looked at Bethany, her face turned away. "Did you like the wedding?" he asked tactlessly.

Bethany snapped away, her startled face turning up to meet his. She stared at him with lips parted for a moment, letting him drag her through the dance, then snapped back into herself. "Oh," she said. "Oh! Yes, yes I suppose I did. It was…splendid?" She concealed her skepticism through a winning smile. A smile that Percy found very attractive, but it did not ease his conscience.

"Pity that Aunt held it during the height of summer," he commented. "Prettiest time of the year, I've heard some say. Personally, that little void between fall and winter is my fancy--I don't know why, really. You know, the time of year when the leaves are nearly gone and the scent of snow descends upon the farm folk?"

Bethany stared blankly at him. _You know…_, he had said, as if she _would _know, because she was of the 'farm folk'. It made her heart enflame with angry disbelief, charring all of the butterflies fluttering around chaotically within it.

Percy was unnerved by her stare, and averted his eyes, and swung his head to the side, so not to catch Bethany in his gaze. "I-I've taken quite a fancy to that time of year. It…intrigues me, perhaps. I don't know." He looked back at her. "But I digress. You see, I've always wanted a summer wedding. All of my mother's paintings boast of the beauties of it, like a still picture plucked from a dream."

"Summertime is the most lovely time," Bethany said, but not pleasantly. _And I wouldn't want it ruined by _you_--or the unfortunate woman who commits herself to you._

"Sure," agreed Percy hesitantly, frowning slightly at his relaxed tongue. "But perhaps I will have one yet--I mean, _we_."

Bethany delved into his eyes, a slightly puzzled look shadowing her face. What was that supposed to mean? she thought. The idea of a proposal from him to her made her stomach contort with both amusement and disgust, producing a very vile acid that soured her. The idea was plausible, she mused, but completely irrational. It was painfully clear that Percy Roemer wanted nothing to do with the likes of her--'farm folk'--so the notion of marriage was absolutely ridiculous. Bethany made a mental face--somewhere between a smirk and a scowl--as she envisioned herself in a Roener family picture--holding her very own Percy Roener Jr. _What a simply juvenile, foul childish thought that is: bedding Percy! _

"What?" she said. "Is someone else in this family of yours tying the knot as well?"

Percy's face swelled, his eyes boggling and his expression changing into one of utter disbelief and shock. His steps faltered for a moment, and his hold waned. Bethany began to become flustered, confused at this reaction, almost expecting him to double over with emotion. But after a moment of straight staring, he regained his composure and swept Bethany back into the dance--but his eyes remained wide, shining with astonishment. "Why," he said, "I thought you knew? I thought you and Aunt had already begun planning…"

Bethany frowned. "Odelia likes to keep the distance between us increasingly vast."

But Percy seemed to misinterpret what she meant, and hesitantly hugged her tighter as the dance progressed. "But how can she, for within a matter of time, the distance between us will be less than what keeps us apart at this very moment?"

Bethany was completely confused--as well as appalled, as she glanced down at the small gap between them as the waltz persisted. Her expression transformed into exaggerated urgency, want. "I don't understand!" she exclaimed. "What are you _talking _about?"

Percy was flabbergasted. "You truly don't know? Why…how peculiar!" He glanced back down to her. "Surely Aunt told you…?"

"She sends others to me to sling her mud."

Percy's eyes bore into her with overwhelming, unnerving intensity. "But she surely must have told you that…that…" he stumbled, but Bethany's stressed expression kept him going. "Surely she told you we are…betrothed?"

Bethany halted abruptly as her entire face fell into a blank disbelief, a void empty of all emotion but one: anguish. "No," she whispered, the word serving more than one purpose. And it was then all of December's words made perfect sense--painfully. She suddenly understood what her sister had been urging to imply, especially in front of the handsome man who couldn't keep his eyes to himself. But yet, she didn't understand, and she strived to—she strived to know why.

_No._

* * *

The moon's silvery luminance cast a fairytale-like gleam over the entire park, bestowing the twirling petals of flowers with a shimmering sparkle, as if something from a dream, a reverie. They raced with lissome fluency over the shifting waves of grass. The trees whispered restless lullabies, dancing gently with the wind, chorusing with the songs of the crickets hiding away in the folds of the lawn, skittering off into the beauty of the landscaping as feet brushed through their theater. From the gaps between the knotted mass of handsome summer flowers and hearty bushes, they peered out, crooning with soft voices at the couple that strode slowly through. Tress rustled happily, as if pleased at the imminent entertainment the couple may serve them. The park was an ideal place for blossoming romance, and the late night gleam of the landscape only added to the affection of it. The air about them all warmed the atmosphere--and the hearts within it. 

The two hearts were those of Celia and Don, striding leisurely with hands entwined, a sensation of relaxed romanticism overwhelming them. Their eyes couldn't stay to themselves, and whenever Celia glanced up, she found herself smiling a small smile at Don, who gazed down at her with such a soft passion. She'd look away, down at her slippers dangling from her fingers, swinging with the beat of their steps. Her heart longed for Don to draw her to him again, as he did back at the mansion--she wished he would pull her aside again, and embrace her and let his breath caressed her face as he spoke in a hoarse whisper. She longed to be that same youthful child again, who didn't care what came on the horizon of the next morn.

Don led her to an abandoned bench that sat next to the park's path, illuminated by the mellow light of two oil lamps towering above. He let her make a slow half circle around him, until the two faced each other. They smiled weakly at each other--as if their adoration enfeebled them--as Celia sunk down onto the bench, playing with her skirts to get them to radiate from her just perfectly. Her small palms rustled them in attempt to smooth it out or make it swell up, picking at it like a fidgety hen at a scarce sprinkle of grain on the ground. Or a small beast inflating herself to look bigger and better than she really was.

Don settled down beside her, tossing his arm with a sigh over her shoulders. He leaned in close to her, sitting prim and neat, his one leg draped over the other. His breath whistled gently through his nose as he gazed out about them, scanning the grounds like a deer in the open. He emitted another sigh. "The night is beautiful," he said, then turned to Celia. "Kind of like yo—"

Celia turned to him abruptly, leaning in and tweaking his nose, halting his words. "Would you stop it?" she laughed teasingly. "I don't want my head getting as big as yours."

Don smiled, but said nothing. Instead, he bent toward her, pressing his left cheek against her right, nuzzling her affectionately like a mother to her pup. He breathed deeply, letting the soapy scents of her hair to permeate his senses—he'd always loved her aroma: it was like flowers. His other hand trailed up to her locks, bundled up in a fashionable style, and caressed them, massaging her head delicately. He was lost within the realm of his affections, lost within her simple splendor, and all that crossed his mind were fantasies, loving thoughts. It was her shifting that tugged him away from that realm, away from her. With a soft sigh, he let his face slide down hers, the bridge of his nose slithering across her jawbone until his flesh left hers. He straightened some, staring at her lips, before his eyes flicked up to meet hers—wanting, needing. She longed to be loved, since it had been so long since anyone had paid her any loving heed.

Her hands cupped his face, and she moved closer to him. "But you are beautiful, Celia Berkley," he told her.

Her face bent upwards, her eyes beginning to gleam with undercurrents of tears. His face ticked with a slight frown at her reaction, growing deeper as she launched herself into his arms, nestling her head between his shoulder and his neck. Slivers of hair toppled over and tickled his skin as it scattered about her head, as well as some of her accessories. Her arms pressed against his shoulder and chest, held close to her like folded wings. She seemed so much like a baby bird, observing the events of the world from a high tower, longing to assist and become a part of it. But when she thrust herself from her protective nest, the weight of the world brought her down with a thump that shattered the naivety that had once engulfed her. She needed so desperately someone to hold her, to tell her that the world would one day not be something she stared at through the melancholy confines of her mind. Everything would be alright, eventually.

Don wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, rocking her gently--simply out of affection. He rested his head gently atop hers, staring out into the soft shadows of the park. He could feel Celia snuggle against his neck, her warm breath stroking his skin. His eyes drew closed slowly, the beat of his rocking pacifying him into a peaceful lull. A sensation of idealism rushed over him like a bubbling stream over rocks, making him feel as if he were experiencing a perfect scene from a perfect dream forgotten long ago.

"Surrender," he whispered gently, "surrender."

Her breath was shaky within her chest, which bobbed up and down with her sigh. He clutched her tightly, embracing the moment with a warm intensity, so that he may know it if they were ever again separated. He never wanted to let go of her.

Like a lullaby, Don began to speak, his voice low and hoarse, yet captivating. His lips brushed against Celia's head as he spoke, caressing her further. He could only speak softly, gently, but his words kept him awake, and kept the visions of his future with Celia firmly planted in the fore of his mind. "When the celebrations are all over," he began tenderly, "and Percy and I succeed in the industrialization of the Grove, I'll return home to you, my love. I'll swoop you up and kiss you like they do in the books, and we'll gather every last one in the town and rush down to the new chapel that'll be there. We'll wrangle the head priest and he'll say the magic words and—just like that! We'll be hitched."

Celia wormed her way deeper into Don's neck, moaning with satisfaction at his plan.

He smiled and continued. "We'll have the biggest house in all the Grove—be like the Jeffersons that lived out on the edge, you know? We'll have a house like them, with a full plantation for….what would you like, Celia? Anything your heart desires—you want oranges? We'll plant oranges. Tomatoes, strawberries, peaches? Sure. Pineapples? You've got yourself deal. You just be a good wife and serve me well in---" With a muted chuckle, Celia slapped his chest, to reprimand him for his unfinished thoughts. He looked down at her and returned the chuckle, shaking his head and returning to stroking her pretty brown locks. "Yes'm, you'll have anything you want. You'll be the best dressed woman in that whole town—though it'll be more of a city by the time we're done with it. Silks, velvets, exotic fabrics: all yours, love. You'll have the latest fashions, straight from Paris, if you wish. If you want, we could take a vacation straight _to_ Paris, visit all the finest shops there. How's that sound? Good? Good." He gave a deep sigh. "Yessir, I declare! Right now, Celia Berkley, right now I give my life to you, if only you'll give yours to me. I'll love you and serve you well forever, my love, even after we've gone and passed away from the little Grove. Just give me the word, and we'll seal it with a kiss."

Celia's eyes snapped open wide, but not because of his proposition. Oh, yes, she longed to spend her life with Don Reynolds, longed to taste his lips, but it was something else he said—something about passing, passing from the Grove. It was those words that resurrected a deep hurt, tore open a healing wound and rubbed it with salt. She whispered his name to warn him to stop, don't say anything else, as he pushed her shoulders up and turned her to face him. But what halted his words was her ashen face and grief-ridden eyes that met him.

"Don't worry," he said, concerned, "I'm a better kisser than I used to be."

"No, Don," Celia said softly, shakily. "It's not that. Oh, Don—I need to tell you… What I said while we danced wasn't the truth, Don. Oh, everything is so wrong!" With a trembling sob, she collapsed into a wilted heap in her lap, concealing the tears streaming down her face with her hands. Don didn't move for a moment, shocked with her reaction, but quickly recovered. He seized her shoulders, wrenching her up and peeling her hands from her face.

He peered into her face, her glistening eyes covered by her lashes. "Celia, what has happened? Has someone done something to hurt you?" he cried. "Celia! Please, tell me."

"Oh, Don…Life happened." And as she fought to calm her tears, she spilled the story of her life, which had been woven with bland, bleak colors throughout the past two years. Details were not spared, and she found that through this gush of emotion, she'd managed very well with it all. Yes, regrets wormed into her heart—reddening her face—but yet, she was almost proud of herself. Almost.

She continued her story from where his started: his departure to Percy's father's cooperation. For it was then that Celia found the window, foggy with age and denial, that looked out over what happened in real life, when she wasn't sneaking away to be with her beau. It was a heart wrenching landscape she found there, bleak and desolate, withered like their farm. The happiness that once flowed through her soured and evaporated. Through her words she attempted to lighten the situation, brighten its austere circumstances. But, with a grimace, she found that the only way to soften it was to remold the end—or was it the beginning?

"So now I'm here, a pauper in the home of a princess," she concluded, averting her eyes so that maybe Don wouldn't see through her. She couldn't bring herself to tell him about her departure to the Valley—she wanted this to last as long as it could, so that maybe the following morn could be put off until she was ready. She didn't want to shatter this calm realm about them.

Don breathed deeply and hugged Celia's hands with his. "I…no one ever told me of any of this. I was completely ignorant," he said. "If I knew that all of this would start with my leaving, I never would have—"

"It's not your fault," Celia interrupted quickly, then puckered her face. "I don't really know _whose_ fault it is."

Don pulled her into his arms, embracing her and caressing her profile with his thumb. "It's life's fault, Celia," he said. "It makes people do great and terrible things. Don't let it influence _you_."

Celia retreated from her burrow against his neck, gazing up at him with a soft smile. She remained silent, unable to express herself with adequate words. His words quickly evaporated from her mind, and she found herself becoming lost in his eyes, a deep glow betraying his undying loyalty to her. She wished she could describe her affections for him, she wished so could let him know how much she's missed his loving embraced. She wished—with a rapidly beating heart—that he wouldn't hesitate and kiss her already. His breath lingered on her face, and his nose brushed against hers. Hands curled around her neck in affection, drawing her closer.

Then, as if a protective guardian unnerved by this closeness of the two juveniles, the great cathedral's bell tolled, singing out in an elegantly bass voice, declaring the mid of night. It shattered the quiet and added a tasty flavor to the atmosphere, romantic, almost. Fantastical.

Don sighed disappointedly and averted his eyes, leaning back into a proper position. Celia, her face raging red as if scoured and rubbed raw, bit her lower lip and settled herself back into a prim pose, unable to make eye contact with Don. After all, he wasn't the only one who was disappointed.

Abruptly, he took her hands, staring intensely into her eyes. "Let me walk you back—we've been out far too long," he said. Celia smiled weakly and nodded, letting herself—with much satisfaction—be pulled to her feet and snuggled into Don's arms. She leaned her head on his shoulder, nestled into the crook of his arm. He glanced down at her contently, met with a beam birthed from pure love and adoration. Both felt so right with the other; the nearness and the intimate discussions—just like from their youth, when all seemed so right in the world. When fairytales really did exist, and they felt as if they were a part of one. If only all fairytales concluded with happy endings, the girl mused solemnly.

Soon, the façade of the Roemer mansion greeted them, illuminated by mellow lantern lights and boisterous laughter. Celia felt the bliss in her soul blacken into woe, a melancholy disease gnawing at her heart. She slid from Don's embrace, walking slowly towards the door. She knew what must be done to prepare for the following morn, the dawn of night—and could not bear to face the joyful faces of those who only approached further ecstasy when the sun arose again. It tore at the strings of her heart to know that it was she who must suffer her father's mistakes, life's misfortunes.

But a hand held her back. It tugged at her arm, beckoning her to come back. She glanced behind her, seeing Don at the other end, his face etched with puzzlement. "Where are you going?" he asked. "The party's just begun."

"I'm afraid I have to go to bed early tonight," she replied soberly.

Don smiled with placid understanding, letting his hand slip from hers. "Then I'll see you tomorrow morn, and I'll be collecting my kiss then, Miss Celia Reynolds." He winked at her, but she could only smile a watery smile at him, any happiness very faint in her expression.

"Perhaps," she said tenderly. "Perhaps."

He nodded merrily and gave a small jump, hastening towards the side of the house and, from there, the reception ball. Some men and women who stood about there waved and hollered his name, beckoning him over. He grinned and hollered back, quickening his step with a glance behind at Celia. She nodded with approval for him to go on, and with a chuckle to himself, he did. She watched grimly as he disappeared into the dim night, his neat self swallowed by the shadows. Her heart wrenched as his cheer soured in her, growing into a gaping black hole of despair. It birthed stinging tears that clawed at her throat, burning it raw and watering her eyes. Without looking back--afraid of what she might see, or what might see her--she gathered her skirts and trotted quickly up the porch steps and into the abandoned house, hoping no one would detect the liquid droplets streaming down her face.

Perhaps ignorance really was bliss.


	7. Dimpled Smile

**Blessings in Disguise**

_Chapter Seven_

Celia felt the wind rustle into her locks and her dress as she stood bleakly on the shore of Forget-Me-Not Valley, her appearance gently mussed by the ocean breeze. The sky reflected the ground in complete and untarnished beauty, enswathing Celia in a passionate homesickness she hadn't remembered ever feeling before. Her heart was woven in morose knots as she swept her grey gaze over the unadulterated landscape, remembering the splendor her own home once held. She felt a sensation of overwhelming regret wash over her, as if she knew she could never go back to what she once had, what she once loved and clung to so dearly. The sandy, perfected shores of Forget-Me-Not Valley were a milestone in her life, marking a new path that she must follow. Her heart writhed with woe.

"Berkley?"

The voice was deep with masculine suavity, sounding from somewhere behind her. Celia whirled quickly on her heel, pushing back the looming tears in her eyes as she stared into the shadows of one of the shelters built sturdily on the beach. She watched as a man stepped out, the sunlight bleeding over his figure, revealing a pleasantly attractive stranger that made her flush bashfully. He wore plain navy slacks accented with boots and a loose, comfortable white shirt rolled unevenly at the elbows. His hair was shoved back, thick with a rich black color, slightly wavy and overly neglected. Clean, icy blue eyes stabbed at Celia's gaze, sending an ice-cold thrill over her.

"Berkley, right?" he repeated.

Celia blinked to interrupt her startled trance. "Yes, that's me," she said. She smiled softly, trying to remain demure and reserved as the man drew up before her, crossing his arms and putting on a stern expression. He seemed to drink in her pale face, interested in her for whatever reason.

"Good," he said bluntly. "I'm Marlin, Vesta's associate. She sent me to pick you up."

"Oh," she said dumbly, then blushed again and let her gaze swoop out of over the rolling hills of the valley. Green blossomed everywhere, a captivating sight that warmed her eyes and her heart, wrapping about her like a shawl warding off a brisk winter breeze. Her eyelids drifted down over her eyes as she sighed and took in a lungful of the countryside's scent. It was peaceful to her, like the smell of home. "It is so beautiful here," she whispered, partially to herself.

Marlin turned his eyes to take in the splendor of the landscape as well. "It is," he said. "You should fit in nicely."

Celia turned her head slightly to catch Marlin's gaze, which had fixated itself back on her. The tone of his voice made her suddenly recall the intimacy of her last night with Don, her face glowing an abrupt shade of red in embarrassment. She could still feel his hot breath on her face, the nearness of his lips, the profundity of his pure love for her. How she longed to be in his arms again, to feel that irreplaceable certainty that his presence gave her. Like nothing could ever corrupt either of them as long as they had the other. The homesickness, the lovesickness, it began to rule over her again, and she felt her heart constrict with emotional agony.

She turned to him fully and bowed her head modestly, ridding herself of her blatant thoughts. "Thank you," she murmured, unsure of how to respond to his words. She knew she never was attractive enough to compete with the other beauties she found surrounded her, most prominent being her elder and younger sisters. Don had really been the one man to appreciate and be captivated by her, and Celia held no higher prospect than that. She didn't expect any other man to approach her with attraction. She didn't necessarily want any to.

Marlin's stiff attitude seemed to weaken as he politely took her threadbare bags from her grasp. He motioned for her to follow him, leading her up a worn path that weaved through the chaste fields and sparse woods. He kept his eyes before him even as he spoke to the mesmerized Celia, who couldn't keep her own eyes off of the scenery. "There's only a few women around here, and even fewer that aren't already married," he said, a small smile lighting his tanned face. His cold eyes flicked to Celia. "How old are you, Miss Berkley?"

"Almost eighteen," she said. "Too young to be taken seriously, but old enough to know better." She smiled at him, making him turn away abruptly and fall into a brief silence.

Finally he said, "Well, you'll cause a stir in the Valley for a bit, miss. And if you anything like any of the other _stirring_ girls here, you'll make the most of it—or the least, in some cases."

Celia furrowed brows. She wasn't so sure she wanted to be one of those girls the men flaunted after, trying to win her attentions with flowers and sugary words. When she was younger, she remembered watching those kinds of girls and their devoted troupe of men, feeling a sense of jealousy that had blossomed at the sight. But as those innocent flirts transformed into love triangles and other many-sided shapes, Celia realized that she would never be fit enough to manage that drama. It was simply too stressful for her simple lifestyle.

"Don't look so frightened," Marlin said, chuckling. "I promise that little dimpled smile of yours won't cause _too_ much trouble for you."

* * *

After Marlin showed her the dusty attic that would serve as her room, the two of them made their way down into the kitchen of the main cabin. Their heavy footsteps echoed throughout the empty building, but the silence was cut short by a rather intimidating woman barreling with a shout through the main doorway. She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the two youths, her large, flowing yellow dress billowing in the breeze that wafted in from behind her. The dress was stained with countless dirt smudges and unidentifiable substances, and in the pocket of her apron rested random crops. Her frizzy red hair sprang from her messy ponytail in a terrible disarray, giving her the look of a crazed fugitive. At the sight of her, Celia let out a soft gasp and took a step back, instinctively grabbing onto her Marlin's arm. Her touch made him jump in surprise, and the two exchanged an awkward look before Celia let go.

"Oh, heavens!" shouted the burly woman in the doorway. "Little Miss Celia Berkley, how you have _grown_! You look just like your proud mother, God rest her soul."

Celia gritted her teeth as the woman took three large steps forward and engulfed her in a massive hug, shaking her in uncontainable excitement. The farmgirl gave another gasp—this one of acute pain—and held her breath, wincing. Whoever this woman was clearly was a stranger of hygiene.

Marlin's voice drawled somewhere to Celia's right. "Don't break her before her before we get a good day's use out of her, Vesta," he said.

The woman, Vesta, immediately released Celia from her stranglehold, but still kept her hands clasped over her shoulders. She smiled at her sadly, her grin reaching from ear to ear. "My apologies, dear, this is just so exciting. I haven't seen your family since you was yea high," she said, making slicing motions with her hand at her thigh. She sighed. "Times have certainly changed, though, haven't they? My most sincere prayers go out to your family at this difficult time, Celia darling. I've been there myself; I know the pain."

Celia's eyes dropped and she locked her stare on the splintered floor. "Yes, thank you," she murmured, wringing her dress's fabric in her hands.

"Well, then," Vesta trumpeted after a moment of uncomfortable silence, shattering the melancholy that had settled over the room. "Enough of this emotional chatter, let us celebrate! How does a strong cup of Stone Oil sound to the two of you? A sip of that stuff is enough to knock the blues out of—"

Marlin interrupted the woman's spirited rant by clearing his throat loudly and nodding his head meaningfully at Celia. The girl's eyes were still fixed on the floor, staring at it with an absent look that pulled a chord in Vesta's heart. Her buoyant air immediately dropped, and she pushed her riotous locks back nervously. "Or maybe we could just have some vegetable juice here in the cabin," she said, her voice softer. "Let you get settled in before we go and paint the town red, hm?"

Celia's eyes flickered up to meet hers, her lips quirking into a pained smile. "Yes," she said. "That would be…wonderful."

"All right, then," Vesta cooed. She returned the girl's smile and wrapped her beefy arm around her shoulders, careening her towards the kitchen. Her pointless rambling filled the house again, but Celia didn't listen. Instead, her eyes were focused on the rolling, fertile hills outside of the windows, her mind wandering back to her home. How was she supposed to concentrate here when everything she saw and did so reminded her of her life back in Piney Grove? Even the musty smell of crops and wood within this very cabin birthed memories of her old farmhouse, of the times she shared with her doting siblings and long-lost mother. Of times when she used to be happy.

Celia shook her head to rid herself of her sorrowful thoughts. Things had changed; her family needed her now. There was no time to dally in the pits of her self-pity.

Vesta clapped her cheerfully on the girl's back, beaming. "Ah, Celia, I like you already!" she exclaimed.

Although Celia had no recollection of what Vesta had previously been blathering about, she tried her best to return the woman's dazzling smile. She knew it was many volumes duller, but it seemed to please Vesta nonetheless, and she chuckled merrily as she placed Celia in a seat.

"I do hope you'll learn to like it here too," she continued, bustling about the kitchen cabinets. "There's something about the Valley that's simply _magical_."

Celia felt her grin wilt a little, and she clasped her hands in her lap to keep her emotions intact. Her eyes then snapped to Marlin, who was taking a seat opposite of her on the table, half of him hidden by the sunflowers that were erupting from a vase in front of her. His icy eyes connected with hers for a moment, and she felt a bashful heat rinse away her woe.

"Yes," she replied after a pause, "magical."

* * *

**A/N**: Wow, it's been a while. Over a year, I think. oo Sorry about that, I get sidetracked easily. 

Anyway, I've finally been able to wrangle up this pathetic excuse of a chapter. It's really short, only like two pages in Word, but it's kind of a filler chapter, so I didn't want to clog it up with more nonsense. But let me know what you think in your review!

Speaking of reviews, THANK YOU so much for all of them. I know this is incredibly corny, but they totally make my day. :-D I feel all warm and fuzzy after I read them, lol. However, one in particular review caught my attention and made me want to clear something up for everyone:

I suck at writing poems. The poem in my summary is actually lyrics from a random song I heard a long long time ago, and I have no claim on it whatsoever. I meant to put a disclaimer up last chapter, but obviously I forgot. But thank you for the kind comments anyway. :-3

So...**DISCLAIMER**: All lyrics that will appear in this story belong to Cindy Morgan! And all the characters that you recognize from Harvest Moon belong to Natsume.

Thank you and goodnight!


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